


Clear Air at the Top of the Sea

by Ribbonsflying



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Bones, Bucket List, Homesickness, M/M, Navy, Pining, Pirates, Sailors, Slavery, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 15:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonsflying/pseuds/Ribbonsflying
Summary: Captain Steven G. Rogers, fierce and determined leader of a crew of elite sailors, was commissioned by the Royal Navy to stamp out threats of piracy throughout the Atlantic.No one had been assigned to the crew. Each sailor had been chosen and asked to join. For many, it was a mission they took because they had a loyalty to the captain, but Captain Rogers himself looked at his task as a vendetta against a sole man.Pirate Captain Johann Schmidt had anchored his ship in the Brooklyn harbor some twenty years ago when a game of hide and seek led young Bucky Barnes, childhood best friend of Steve Rogers, to board the ship looking for a place to hide.  Schmidt left port that evening and Barnes, along with two other boys, were never seen alive again. The bodies of the other boys washed ashore, but the body of Bucky was never recovered. Besides the vest Bucky had been wearing and a severed part of his arm, the boy was all but gone. Now in his mid-thirties, Steve Rogers had risen through the ranks of the navy with unrelenting resolve until he was given the commission he desired: going after the man who had stolen his best friend’s life and serving him the merciless justice he’d shown Bucky years before.





	1. The Devil & The Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MooseKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseKing/gifts).



> An endless thank you to my AMAZING artist, [MooseKing](http://king-of-moose.tumblr.com)\- who creates masterpieces that make my knees weak and my heart skip beats.  
> Because not only did they jump on board when I said, "Sailors and Pirates!," they pretty much encouraged half this madness and let me bounce ideas around for ages and didn't ever scream (at least at me). For all the shit we went through over the past few months, I'm kind of impressed that we made it to this point honestly.
> 
>  
> 
> And boundless gratitude to my beta, [KOranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/KOranges), who has known about my desire to write this story for a year and has lovingly pestered me until it was done. (Every artist needs someone like that in their lives.) Any mistakes that may have slipped through the cracks are entirely my own fault (I am a typing disaster.) Thank you for more than I can say in words.  
> NOTE: I name a number of characters not in the MCU (yet) or who are minor characters in the MCU. Anyone mentioned (as well as their ship's names) have links to the films or comics. Just ask if you want more info.
> 
>  
> 
>  **PLEASE BE WARNED:** This story mentions past slavery. It is not sexual. The only sexual scene is in the final chapter between Steve and Bucky. It is consensual.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/147908809@N02/43810191690/in/dateposted-public/)

James's whole body ached as the ship rocked and tossed him to his knees again. He wasn't sure why he had tried to stand. That had been foolishly optimistic and definitely not one of the better ideas that he'd had in the last few days. The other incredibly stupid one had been using the only bucket within his tiny cell for waste instead of using it to try to catch the rain water as it poured in through the crack in the roof overhead. 

It was also the only crack that provided any light. And in the last few days, the tiny crack not even as wide as one of James's fingers and only an inch or so long was the only source that had provided any water. Unfortunately it was over the cell next to his and at best, he could only fit one arm through the bars and catch the rain in his hand. He didn't even have the bucket to try to dump the water into so he could save some. He just had to drink what he could get and try to make it count.

Despite the darkness, the prisoner in the cell next to him had woken up and seen him trying to "steal his water" and had nearly sliced James's working hand off with a small shiv. At least he'd gotten three or four good handfuls of water into his parched mouth before that had happened. 

Miserably, James rolled over on the damp and pungent hay at the bottom of his cell. The ship tossed and he reached for his head with a pained groan. He’d been down here for days now.

His left shoulder had been dislocated in the takeover a near week or so ago and now James couldn't get it to move at all. To be fair, it had been his weaker arm for years, but at least he'd still been able to use it. His other arm had been broken when they’d tossed him down the hatch and into the cell. He laughed miserably when he thought about what good a slave would be to his master without a single working arm, but he also assumed that seeing his master alive again was probably hoping for too much. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he sighed, but his physical body couldn't be bothered. As far as masters went, the man had been a good one. James had been managed by worse men over the years. At least this one had only tattooed his name in small letters under James's other tattoos and left him alone. James did the work asked and had received food and clothing and a hammock like the rest of the men onboard. He had definitely had worse lots in life and the one he was in currently came to mind quite strongly. 

In the darkness, he couldn't see the clothes he was dressed in, but he knew they were filthy. They had been mostly clean before too. His master had always kept him in presentable boots and coats and his waistcoat had been purchased the last time they were in port, not even a month ago. 

"How long you think we've been down here?" he asked, thick-tongued, to the corpse in the cell on his other side. When no response came, he croaked, "Yeah, I've lost count too," before losing consciousness.

He couldn't say when he woke up next, but it was daylight and the sun was shining through the tiny crack over the next cell. The three cells across from his had prisoners shouting in them, clanging the bars and stamping their boots, but his head pounded too much to figure out why. There were loud thumps from overhead- and James knew that sound- too heavy to be footfalls and too light to be most cargo. They were being overtaken. Again. And the thumps were bodies as they hit the deck.

Did pirates steal from other pirates? He glanced at the crack and the bright light hurt his eyes and worsened his headache so he turned away and closed them again, just trying to drown out the noise. The ship couldn't have enough on it to satisfy most pirates- they'd been looted just days before, when James had first been imprisoned down here. There used to be a code between them, all the pirates of these seas, but times had changed lately.

As he buried his face in the damp hay beneath him, he tried to tell himself he could smell more blood and booze than piss and vomit around him. He absolutely did not think about the fights happening on deck and he absolutely did not think about whether they would view him as a person or property because judging by the sounds of bodies falling, they had come for their goods, but they didn't take prisoners.

The next time James awoke it was still daylight and the door to the cargo hold had swung open loudly. He didn't know if he had been asleep minutes or hours, but the crack of the wood made his head throb more and he felt sicker than ever. Sitting up the best he could manage, he reached for where the bucket was, but he didn't reach it in time before vomiting a thick bile onto his own chin and waistcoat. 

The helpless sound he made surprised even him and then there were men cocking guns and unsheathing swords. He fell over again, his brain panicking for him to move, to save himself, but he couldn't make himself do more than roll over so that his back was facing the attack.

They fired into the cells across from him first, at the men still standing and agile enough to make a fuss. James didn't remember hearing their bodies collapse, but they were silent a moment later and the smell of gunpowder mixed with the fetid odor of sick and dying men.

In his agony, he braced himself for the bullet and remained still. A week ago, he had stood above decks, clean, fed, and called by name by a crew who treated him like their friend. Now those same men lay lifeless just feet from him. It had never happened this way before. He had taken lives- he'd worked various pirate ships for most of his life now. But he had rarely been injured and hadn't come close to death in twenty years. He tried to think, but he couldn't manage. His throat was squeezing and his stomach spasming like it wanted to expel more from his body, but there was nothing left.

He barely heard the guns cock before the bullet pierced through his left shoulder. He didn't even feel it. He just had a faint memory of the damp warmth spreading over his shirt as blood poured from the wound and onto his chest and back before seeping into the wet hay.

*=*=*

Sam gagged and pulled the patch from over his eye before he stepped back into the sunlight above deck. He pulled away the handkerchief he’d been holding over his nose and mouth and pocketed it again.

"They finished them off," he told Peter. "You don't wanna go down there yet. Let it air out."

"The pirates even killed their own prisoners?" Peter asked, incredulously, folding his fingers around the edges of his shirt sleeves. "But all pirates think we’re the enemy. I thought the enemy of my enemy was my friend?"

"Maybe that's what they were afraid of," Tony replied as he wrapped the body of one of the slain pirates into a hammock they'd found below. "It’s getting harder to tell who’s an ally and who’s a threat. Maybe they thought we’d let 'em out and they’d help us."

Sam shrugged at Peter who seemed to be having a hard time with that information. Pirates killing other pirates wasn’t how he’d been told this would go. The kid had only been out at sea a few weeks and had barely begun to fight so this wasn't the first time he'd looked queasy over something besides the unsteady ground.

"You'll get used to people doing despicable things," Clint murmured as he glanced up at the crow's nest. He nodded upward and Peter immediately hopped to his task, taking his shoes off and climbing the chains and mast in seconds up to the top.

"Hey, Cap," Sam called. Pietro had broken into the first crate and found what the defeated pirates had probably considered their treasure. "We found what mattered to 'em."

Captain Steven Rogers of the Royal Navy looked down from the quarterdeck and squinted under the useless brim of his deep blue tricorn. He made his way down the steps and onto the ground of the main deck which was still bloody from their victory. The Captain looked into the crate with a grin and then said to Pietro, 

"Doctor Banner gets his share first. You know the rules." Pietro nodded and darted off to find the ship’s surgeon. The medicines would keep them all cared for for a while to come.

"Anything important in the hold?" he asked his quartermaster. 

"Just bottles of rum, small haul of lumber." Sam nodded toward the solid hatch in the floor, "and a handful of dead prisoners."

"Any of 'em ours?"

"Didn't get a good look," Sam admitted and they both stood in silence for a moment. They knew the men had probably been killed on their account. Pirate or not, that didn't seem fair. The prisoners hadn't even been a part of the fight.

"Let's get them out. Commit them with the rest."

Sam nodded and Clint joined him without a word, motioning some others over to help them haul the bodies from below.

Tony finished tying up the corpses of the men they had had to overpower to take the ship as Captain Rogers walked up and looked out at their horizon. They didn't kill everyday. They didn't even kill most days. But given a grant from their King to go after the pirates that often plundered their area's merchants was a serious career move for naval captain Steven Rogers and he had every intention of fulfilling it- both for personal and moral reasons.

"Steve-" Tony started, not looking at the captain, but looking down at the bodies he was making sure were tied up well. "He'd be proud of you."

Tony was one of few allowed to say the things others couldn't. And Steve may not always like to hear it, but Tony generally knew when he needed to anyway.

Peter tossed the pirate's flag down from the mast- the tattered skull and crossbones now crumpled on the bloody deck and grinning up hollow-eyed at Steve.

"My mother wouldn't be," he replied to Tony with a dismayed sigh, blinking and seeming to rejoin the task at hand. He bent down and grabbed the Jolly Roger now bloody from where it had landed. Without a word, he stepped over and tied it in knots around the body of the fallen pirate captain. Then he turned and helped Tony secure the other bodies before they stacked them to the side to be buried at sea. They would pray first. Even for the ones they'd cut down.

There were three bodies hauled up on deck from the brig before Clint came up the steps and looked at Steve. 

"Cap," he informed gravely. "Two of those men down there are still alive, but they're not lookin' like alive men. If you know what I mean."

"They any of ours?" Steve asked again, like it mattered. Even though Clint knew he would answer the same either way, he was honest. 

"More pirates, Sir."

"Think they can make it?" 

Clint frowned as Sam and some others hauled another lifeless body out onto the deck and laid it supine beside the others. 

"Outlook's not favorable," Clint admitted, but still Steve said exactly what he predicted. 

"See if Banner can do anything for them. Water and medicine. Reasonably."

"Aye, Cap'n," Clint nodded and was gone.

They may have been prisoners and pirates, but the crew would at least try to get names from them so that when the time came, they could commit them back to God before they sank their bodies. It was the proper way to handle things. Steve hated the idea of burying anyone at sea, but if he was going to do it, he was going to do it respectfully.

Unlike the pile of pirate corpses Tony had mostly stacked against the side of the ship, Steve usually knew the names of the men he had to commit to the deep. But this ship had seen more than its share of death recently. 

Steve's crew- who liked to think of themselves as more of the avenging sort rather than openly aggressive- had come upon the pirates quickly and caught them off guard. Apparently they had taken the ship from a meager crew of enemies just days before and were running it toward a rendezvous point a good ways south. Captain Rogers and his shipmates had shown up just in time to ruin their day.

A ship changing hands in a day was common, but the log books in the Captain's quarters were recorded by a man Steve knew, and he wasn't to be found among any of them. Captain Vasily Karpov and had been a ruthless seaman, but if the bloodshed around him and the ransacking of the quarters were any indication, Karpov had been finished off earlier in the week by the pirates Steve's crew had handled that day. A ship changing hands twice in a week was unusual at least.

Steve had recognized the captain of the pirates now laid out before him when he'd tied the black flag around his corpse. Captain Alexander Pierce had once been a distinguished man of the Royal Navy himself. The Navy didn't pay as well as piracy and there were fewer women and more demands. It seemed not everyone was cut out for the job- Pierce among them.

Before they stacked the bodies and committed them back to the ocean, Steve said, "Not every pirate begins their life at sea with intents to be criminals. This man used to be my captain for a while. I was young and he was a proud, wealthy man who had been given much. It seems it wasn't enough."

He glanced down at the tattered black cloth tied around the captain's body. 

"May he find whatever brings him peace in the next life."

They rolled the bodies into the ocean a few at a time, secured and weighted down. 

The crew all removed their hats and some said kind words, but as soon as the last of the bodies sank below the surface, it was back to work. A navy ship wouldn’t run itself, even one as small as this one.

They cleared the decks of blood, hoisted their own flag, and then Steve looked to Tony and said, "Do you think you can handle taking the new ship back into port or you want me to get Sam to do it?"

"Don't insult me, Cap," Tony replied. 

Steve flashed a small smile at the boatswain and then started calling out names of the crew members he wanted to stay back on their newly acquired ship and help sail the vessel in their now two ship fleet.

=*=*=

Dr. Banner was surprised the man with the shoulder injury could still muster the strength to curse and jerk away when he poured brandy over the bloodied area.

The injury looked a lot worse than it was. Whoever had fired the shot had been in a hurry and had missed his chest, neck, and head. His shoulder wasn't even nearly as affected as it could have been. The bullet passed through the minor muscle near his armpit and would probably make it hard to use the arm, but perhaps no more difficult than maneuvering a wooden arm had to be in the first place. To both Dr. Banner's horror and delight, the prisoner's arm stopped just before his elbow and attached was a sling-like brace connecting a wooden and metal crafted arm to the remaining limb. It immediately told him the prisoner was physically strong, no stranger to pain, and a survivor. If Dr. Banner could get him back hydrated and keep him from infection, he should pull through. Dr. Banner removed the crafted limb and set it aside for now. He wanted to study it in the light, but something felt wrong about taking a man's arm away without asking, even if he was unconscious and would probably never know.

The man from the cell next to that was one they had already been carrying out with the other bodies when Clint had noticed his faint pulse.

They'd returned him to the cell and then Dr. Banner had worked to nurse him back to health. He wasn't speaking yet, but the man's body had taken quite a beating so they suspected it would take some time for him to come around if he did at all. 

The swearing from the first pirate, however, showed marked progress. The previous times Dr. Banner had cleaned the wound, the man had done little more than whimper. If three days later, he could swear and jerk away, he was just about well enough for Dr. Banner to tell Captain Rogers they probably weren't going to have to cast him overboard after all.

=*=*=

"When they're well," the captain told Dr. Banner the fourth day, "Find out their business, but leave them in the cells. I don't trust pirates- even ones imprisoned by other pirates. We'll let officials decide what to do with them when we get to port."

"Well, I don't know if the one is going to make it, but the other? He was well enough to call me a 'lobcock' this morning when I scraped his bullet wound clean so I think he's well on his way to good health." 

Steve smirked at Dr. Banner and offered him a plate of raisins and a few slices of apple. 

"He's full of class, I see."

"All charm." Dr. Banner agreed as he accepted an apple slice and popped it into his mouth.

"Let me know when he's fully alert," Steve told him as he ushered the plate toward the doctor and made to leave the dining hall. "I want to know what happened to his crew and how he ended up in there."

"Uh," Dr. Banner looked unsure. "He's a slave, Captain. They probably just planned to sell him with the other supplies."

Steve paused and nodded. "Both of them?"

"No, Sir. The second one has some brands on his arms- one for piracy and two for thievery."

Steve nodded again. "Expected."

Dr. Banner remained silent as he continued feeding raisins into his mouth.

There was a shout from Clint outside and so Steve went again to excuse himself saying only, "Thank you, Bruce," before heading out to see the commotion.

=*=*=

Two days later, James could sit up on his own and was keeping both lemon water and oatmeal down enough that he knew to be scared.

There was a doctor with the Royal Navy looking after him and he had a sinking suspicion that it was so he would be well enough to stand trial once they reached land.

He had heard before that slavery would excuse a man of piracy- that as long as his master had been one that he could be absolved of such a criminal act and be sold again to anyone who wasn't planning to take him to sea and as much as James feared being sold again, he hoped with everything in him that that rumor was true. With all the tales he'd been told, he'd never heard of anyone escaping the noose or the chopping block once they'd been charged as a pirate.

"I'm too young to die," he told the man in the prison cell next to him. "I haven't done everything on my list yet."

The man in the cell next to him was alive. He knew that now despite having been sure he was dead a few days ago. He must have been a hell of a lot stronger than he looked. Then again, the bad ones always were.

"If I tell them about you, think they'll spare me?" James asked. The man was still too sick to respond and James knew it. "You better live. I need that leverage."

=*=*=

Captain Rogers was looking at a map spread out on his desk when Sam let himself into the small room. 

As far as quartermasters went, Sam was the only one Steve trusted wholeheartedly and the only one he ever wanted commanding the crew should anything happen to him. He entrusted him with anything that needed managing onboard and everything that needed quieting in his head. Sam was family when many others were merely good friends with a common goal. Steve cared about them, but he didn't tell them his secrets. Sam was the only one who knew everything Steve had to tell. 

"He doesn't know we're coming. We can surprise them and send him to hell in a single attack if we do this right," Steve said without preamble, pushing a little carved wooden ship along the map a ways. Across the sea on the northern coast of Wakanda and into an inlet lay another wooden piece- a skull painted red.

Sam knew who Steve was referring to. He'd heard the stories from Steve himself. The red skull piece stood for the man whose jolly roger wasn't a white skull and crossbones, but one of black and with a blood red skull with tentacles beneath it. Captain Johann Schmidt had never been a commander of any ship or crew with an ounce of virtue. Their vile and repugnant ways were known and feared across every sea Steve had ever sailed, but his vendetta against Schmidt was personal.

"Be careful, Steve," Sam warned. "We can't let our emotions get ahead of our planning."

"That's why I have you," Steve said flicking the red skull piece and sending it flying across the small cabin space and landing near the window.

Sam picked it up and sat down across from the Captain. 

"It's not going to bring him back, you know?" Sam reminded gently as he eyed the piece Steve had carved. “We have to be smart and do this right or else, we’re just running blindly into something we can’t even win. Even if you’re doing it for him, Captain. We can’t be reckless.”

Steve took a sharp breath like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. He looked down as Sam reached and placed the red skull piece back in place on the map between them. 

"I know," Steve admitted. "But I have to do it. I made a promise."

"I know," Sam echoed. "What'll you do after? When Schmidt's dead?"

"Shove his head on a spike and leave the rest to rot in the sun and be picked over by vultures."

Sam tried not to look surprised at Steve's vehemence.

"I meant after all of that," he responded instead, voice level. "Will you go home? What's the next plan for Captain Rogers?"

"I don't think I'm the settling down with a family type," Steve confessed as he tried to imagine what would come after defeating Schmidt. "But I'll go home and tell Rebecca. She deserves to know and I ought to be the one to tell her."

"Some people- and I'm not saying I agree or know enough to have an opinion- but some people have said they thought you'd marry her...when this is done."

Steve looked surprised. "Marry Rebecca Barnes?" he asked. "Have they drank too much seawater? Miss Rebecca is like a sister to me. She's dear and she's close to my heart in a way no other woman has ever been, but I could never imagine being with her in any way that would disrespect Bucky."

Sam held up his hands in defense. "I'm not saying I'm pushing for this, but who is to say that would disrespect him? Maybe he would have appreciated you looking out for his sister for him."

"You don't look out for a friend's sister by taking her to bed with you," Steve said with a shake of his head. "Besides, she deserves someone who doesn't remind her of her brother whenever she looks at him."

Sam heard the reverse as well even though Steve didn't voice it.

"For what it's worth," Sam offered, "I think Bucky would have been proud of you and what you've become. I think- no matter what happens when we reach Schmidt- that he would have been honored to have meant this much to you."

Steve stared at the map for a long time without a word. 

"I'll make Bucky a memorial," Steve answered eventually. "That's what I'll do when Schmidt's dead. I'll go back to Brooklyn and buy a bit of land to dedicate to him. Maybe turn it into a park with benches and a cast iron bell and gift it to the city afterward so he won't be forgotten."

Sam was quiet a moment, just nodding along and let Steve plan his park. Steve grabbed his journal and a quill, beginning to sketch the park in his head. (Steve was always sketching one thing or another. He had even sketched the flag they flew under- a flag different from that of the regular royal navy and instead consisting of three white stars across a blue background on the left side and horizontal stripes of white and red coming out from the right of that. “Stars,” Steve had explained, “Because Bucky and I used to lay out on the beach at night and look at the stars.” Sam’s sister Sarah had sown the flag for them herself after that.)

 

"He was a child. Children love parks. It's fitting."

"It is," Sam agreed.

"Should I gift it in memory of Arnie and Michael as well?" Steve asked, not looking up from his drawing. "They all died. Should I-"

"It's your decision, Steve, but you told me Michael and Arnie’s parents got to bury their sons and give them gravestones and have funerals. If it were me, I would make the park for my friend. When Schmidt's dead, it will be time for you to let Bucky's soul rest too."

Steve nodded and swallowed hard, his hand stopping with the quill raised just above the page.

"Sometimes, I tell myself it's better that we never found him," he said and he looked out of the small windows and at the sunlight as it sank lower on the horizon. "Rebecca never had to see what became of him. When Michael and Arnie's bodies washed up, they had both been so mutilated. And then the water had made it worse. Just bits of their faces left clinging to bone. Fingers, eyes gone, ribs picked clean by fish, legs and necks broken by Schmidt. He's an animal." He dropped the quill back in its well.

"Animals kill with more dignity."

“I have enough nightmares about seeing Michael and Arnie's bodies. Sometimes Bucky's is there too and when I wake up, I'm actually glad we never found him."

He turned and looked completely at the sunset then, away from Sam, and Sam gave the conversation the final space it needed before saying, "Eat something before you go to bed. You're no good to anyone if you're not at your best."

=*=*=

"James Barnes, huh?" Dr. Banner asked. "How'd you get the last name?" 

"Born with it," James said through gritted teeth and he looked ready to punch the doctor for forcing him to stand. Lucky for Bruce, neither of James’s hands were really up for punching anything right now. 

"Most slaves aren't born with surnames," Dr. Banner commented as he helped James straighten up his posture. "There must be a story there."

"Just pretend I won it in a fight, alright?" James said, reaching out and grabbing at the bars inside the cell to help him stabilize. He felt like a man who'd never been at sea before the way his body threatened to drop him with every slight movement of the vessel around him.

The door had been left open to his cell today and just feet from the open door was the ladder leading to the hatch. Sunlight poured in from where the doctor had left it ajar and James considered that. 

He hadn't felt like less of a threat since he was a child. The doctor knew full well that James couldn't make it out the door on steady legs so he definitely couldn't use injured arms to pull himself up a ladder yet. And even if he could, what would he do when he reached the top? Fight every sailor out there?

"The Captain has some questions for you," Dr. Banner told him as he watched James try to gain his bearings. "When you're well enough. Maybe tomorrow. He wants to know what happened on this ship recently and he thinks you're the person to tell him."

"Vasily's dead?" James asked. "Captain Karpov?"

"You tell me," Dr. Banner replied. 

"I don't know," James shrugged and his shoulder shot pain through his whole left side. "I was down here. How would I know?"

"You should think about it. The captain wants to know and he's going to ask."

"He'll be wasting his time. I'm not being tight-lipped; I just don't know. Pierce's men came onboard. They grabbed me after only a few minutes, broke my other arm, and shoved me in here. I don't know what else became of the lot."

"It's not fully broken. It's just fractured. Don't use it and it'll fix itself."

James looked down to the work the doctor had done on his right arm. Something strong and wooden was run along it and wrapped tightly to keep him from bending it. Dr. Banner had rested the arm up in a cloth sling and tied it around James's neck. It all looked clean and James noticed at some point he'd been been put into a cleaner shirt. He hadn't even noticed in the dark. His new waistcoat was gone, but his filthy trousers and boots remained. A glance around told him the stalls had been cleaned out of most of the foul hay as well.

"Is this a kitchen spoon along my arm?" James asked and Dr. Banner shook his head. 

"That's a spare piece of wood my mate fashioned into a splint for you."

"Did he use a kitchen spoon?"

"No, you lobcock," Dr. Banner said with a grin and James vaguely remembered throwing that one his way the other day so he guessed he deserved that.

"I belong to you now?" James tried letting go of the cell wall to test his ability to stand on his own two feet without support.

"You're a prisoner of the Royal Navy. I think the Captain will makes the decisions about what happens with you."

James sighed and decided against trying to take a step just yet. 

"They always do."


	2. Wind in Dark Sails, Stars in Bright Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have two prisoners,” Steve found himself saying. “Pirates."
> 
> Natasha smirked, took another swig of Steve's rum, and set it between them on the map. 
> 
> “I'm always up for a challenge, Rogers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm out of time to edit and I see it's erased all of my italics. I'll be back to fix that in a bit. (Btw, every chapter will be posted today because ~~I'm a slacker~~ go big or go home.)

"What a sight for sore eyes," Captain Rogers murmured good-humoredly as the familiar ship came nearer to The Avenger. It was an impressive vessel and Steve was glad they weren’t meeting on unfriendly terms.

"It's been too long and not long enough," Clint agreed. 

"I guess this is where you leave us," Steve said, clapping Clint on the shoulder. "As promised."

"I'll miss you, Cap, but not too much," Clint said with a laugh and Steve shook his head at him as the hands on deck worked to slow their ship.

"That's a fearful sight," Peter admitted uneasily as he climbed down from the crow’s nest and watched the black-sailed ship begin to slow a near distance not far from them.

"Black sails," Steve educated their newest recruit, "Allow you to remain hidden at night. White sails stand out. But black ones, against a black sky?"

Peter nodded. "Why- why don't we have black sails?"

"Pirates have black sails," Thor stepped up and informed. "We sail for the navy."

"But-" Peter glanced out at the approaching ship and swallowed nervously. 

"Peter, the Widowmaker is the only ship on the seas that has more freedom than we do and is still legal."

"The Widowmaker?"

"Natalia Romanova, the captain of that ship,” Steve explained, “used to be one of the most efficient pirates the world had ever seen. You can ask Clint how she ended up an ally of ours."

Clint grinned as he strapped his sword to his side, tucked his gun away, and watched as a few hands brought out his already packed trunk up from the hold.

"Cornered her. Everyone has a weak moment. I just got lucky. Took her hostage. Didn't kill her, but took her back and promised the crown that I could reform her and she could work for them. I thought they were gonna hang us both, but instead, they let her keep her ship as long as they get a cut of any fair and legal deals she makes selling her merchandise. She kept the ship exactly the same- the skull and hourglass on her flag and everything. Pirates don't bother her out of respect or fear. And we don't bother her-"

"-for the same reasons," Steve added.

"So she's free to do as she pleases,” Thor added.

"She kept her end of the bargain. She deals fairly? Gives them a cut?"

"Enough to keep 'em placated," Clint shrugged. "She doesn't attack Navy ships or anyone doing honest business. She's been known to attack a few slave ships or to go after ships other pirates have taken hostage."

"Why are we joining up with her?"

"Natalia didn't believe I was taking her to my superiors for a trial. So I swore to her that if we both survived it, I'd be at her service."

Peter looked back and forth between Steve and Clint. Steve seemed amused by the story, keeping his eyes on the ship edging closer. Clint seemed infatuated and not at all intimidated by the imposing vessel or its dark sails and black and red paint. Still, all Peter could do was stand frozen in place as the hands on one ship tossed ropes from one vessel to the other to keep them from drifting apart.

The ropes were tied off and planks and netting thrown over them and then within minutes the most intimidating person Peter had ever seen dropped down to stand in their bow.

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen," she said with a knowing smile. 

Steve tipped his tricorn and Clint nodded his head. Sam came to stand by Steve's side and tipped his own hat as Natalia looked them all up and down. 

"Ma'am." (Steve was nothing if not polite.)

"I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Clint looked ready to climb over and plant himself on Natalia's ship immediately, but his new Captain was looking at Steve like she didn't have any intentions of going anywhere yet.

"You can have him. He's nothing but trouble," Steve commented and smirked fondly at his now former lookout.

"Who is going to be your new lookout, Rogers?" Captain Romanova looked around at the hands on deck.

Clint motioned to Peter. "This kid can climb that mast like a monkey."

"Like a spider," Peter argued, wriggling his fingers.

"Spider-monkey," Sam settled and Natalia pointedly did not grin even though her eyes showed her amusement.

"Speaking of exotic pets and other goods," she said, reaching out for Steve's arm. "Let's have a little discussion, you and I."

Steve eyed her suspiciously, but nevertheless, allowed the pirate-turned-privateer to guide him toward his own quarters. 

Within no time of closing the door, she'd uttered the words, "Please, Rogers, I've told you, it's Natasha," and poured herself some of his rum.

She took a long look at the map Steve kept set out across the table and then a long drink from the bottle.

Steve absently noted she'd picked his favorite. 

"You're still set on this then, yeah?" Her accent wasn’t as thick as most, but Steve could still hear the Slavic cadence and the way she curled some letters differently than he would in his own tongue.

Steve glanced at the pieces set on the map and then back at the bottle in Natasha's hand. 

"Aye. I made a promise."

"Everything you do for the Navy seems so personal, Rogers," Natasha noted, propping her boots up on a chest near her.

"It is. You know why I’m here.”

"I do. That makes me feel bad about what I'm about to ask, but I have to ask it. Of course you can turn me down, but-"

"What?"

For the quickest moment, Natasha looked vulnerable.

"Yelena killed Alexei. Over the smallest argument. Just stabbed him out of nowhere. She was always volatile."

Steve tried not to look too surprised. Alexei was Natasha's younger brother. She'd taken care of him and given him everything she could- one of few people Steve had ever known her to show any affection toward.

He swallowed, "You marooned her?" he asked, knowing full well Natasha still implemented a pirate's tactics when she was emotional.

"We keelhauled her,” Natasha looked wholly unapologetic. “She'd survive a marooning. She was too clever. I couldn't take a chance."

Steve tried to school his face away from a grimace and into something neutral, but Natasha wasn't looking at him anyway.

"And Ava became ill. Too ill. We had to leave her behind the last time we were in port."

Steve sat down across from Natasha and looked at her sympathetically. 

He looked ashamed to say it, but still replied, "We don't have anyone we can spare. I know you need them, but we're sailing two ships and only brought the manpower for one. We're already stretched thin."

"Why didn't you bring more? Knowing you were after him?" she nodded toward the carved red skull piece on the map. "You could have gathered more support before-"

"I didn't want anyone coming who didn't want to be here. I told my men about why this was important to me. I took only the ones willing to fight with me. There's no glory or riches to be had in it. There's quite likely death for some of them. I couldn't-"

He shook his head and Natasha reached across the table and put a hand on his arm. It was a soft touch and Steve found himself surprised that she was capable of such a thing. 

"I have two prisoners,” Steve found himself saying. “Pirates. They were already imprisoned when we took the other boat. Dr. Banner has been treating them.” Steve straightened up and tried to look unemotional before he offered any more. "They were injured, but one's recovering well and the other is still uncertain. I know it's not much to offer, but that's all the extra bodies I have to spare. You're already taking Barton."

Natasha pursed her lips. "Why were they imprisoned?"

"According to Thor whom I had question the recovering one this morning, he's a slave who was good at fighting and winning any duels his master got himself into. And he apparently has the tattoos of some of his victories so I'd imagine he's being honest. According to Karpov’s logs, he’s the one they refer to as ‘Karpov’s Pet.’ Follows orders like a soldier. He told Thor he thought they originally spared him to sell him, but when we attacked the ship, they shot all of the prisoners including him so he's recovering. He told Thor the other man was a thief and had tried to steal from the crew. Apparently our first man was actually the one who had beaten him to the half-alive form he's in now."

Natasha smirked, took another swig of Steve's rum and set it between them on the map. 

“I'm always up for a challenge, Rogers. You give me the prisoners and if they survive and join the crew, I'll be in your debt."

“Don’t underestimate them,” Steve warned. “They’re still pirates from a Hydra ship. Don’t expect that you’ll change that just because they’ll sail under your command instead of Karpov’s.”

“I know,” she answered, taking one last swig of his rum and then setting the bottle down to level him with a look. “So what do you say, Captain?”

Steve eyed her coolly and replied, "The infamous Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow herself, indebted to me."

"Don't ruin my reputation, Steve."

=*=*=

James didn't know why, but the large muscular man who had nearly grilled him alive this morning under the captain's orders was back and opening the lock to the cell. James had been happy this morning to have only been questioned verbally. If they wanted more information out of him, he would tell them anything they wanted. He couldn't take physical interrogation right now. He wasn't strong enough and frankly, he was mentally too exhausted as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any solid sleep. 

This man, who had introduced himself with the name of an ancient god, unlocked the cell and stood in the opening. 

"You are to be handed over to the Captain of the Widowmaker," he explained. "You and your-" he nodded toward the next cell, "friend."

"Told you, he's not my friend. He's a thief and a liar," James reminded. 

"And you're not," Thor finished for him skeptically.

"I don't care if you believe me. I told you all I know."

"It doesn't matter to me," Thor said with a light laugh to his voice as he stepped out of the way of the door. "You're Captain Romanova's problem now."

James's eyes widened as he stepped out of the cell block . "Romanova?"

"Yes," Thor replied, "And I think most of the tales of her are true."

James looked uncertain, but he nodded and allowed the man to help him up from the hatch and into the daylight.

Above deck was dizzying. James squinted in the sunlight. The brightness was overwhelming after so many days in darkness and he had to close his eyes as he stood just in front of the hatch.

The man who had helped him reach the upper deck then manhandled him to the side of the ship and heaved him up. He tried to look around, but the sun was so bright, so disorienting that he had to trust the man as he put two hands on James’s shoulders and walked him stiffly across open planks from The Siberia, the ship he’d called home for countless years now, and onto The Avenger. 

James had known in the back of his mind that this was the crew who had taken The Siberia. There were rumors about them, about how they sailed on a special mission from the Royal Navy to seek out and destroy piracy. He was trying to think enough to protect himself when Thor practically dropped him onto the bow of the boat and he fell to his knees from the force.

He still wasn’t remarkably balanced and the wind rushing around them, forcing its way into his lungs felt almost sharp after so many days below deck. He kept his eyes downcast, squinting when he opened them, and then closing them again as he sat there on his knees swaying a bit.

A moment later a hand was on his arm gingerly helping him to his feet again and to keep his balance. Then he heard a familiar voice, one he was quite sure would do him no harm.

"You? How are- what are you doing here?"

He didn't open his eyes, but reached out and allowed the strong, steady grip from Dr. Banner to lead him a few steps away to sit down on a wooden crate.

"We're going with Captain Romanova," James explained, not opening his eyes and keeping his head down. The fresh air was so strong that the smell of the sea almost made him sick all over again. The rush of the wind made his head swirl and he tried to center himself until the feeling passed.

Without him asking, a brown coat was placed in his lap and he recognized what it was- a muted dark spot that didn't reflect the sun as much as some surfaces so he could look at it and try to readjust his eyes.

The hand left him and a few feet off, James could hear Thor and someone bringing the other prisoner across from The Siberia. 

He wanted to look around, wanted to see if he could recognize this Captain Romanova, but his eyes wouldn't allow it yet. He focused on adjusting his eyes and to the feeling of being on deck and tried to let the rest of his mind slip away.

=*=*=

Dr. Banner was knocking frantically on the door of the office the Captain kept for himself and a moment later, Steve swung it open. 

"What's the-"

"You're getting rid of our prisoners?" Dr. Banner asked in a rush. "They're not well. They're not well yet. They need care."

Steve looked out of the door of his quarters and across the main deck of the ship. Toward the bow, sitting on a crate and practically leaning against the wall of the forecastle deck, one of Bruce's patients sat very still, looking down and wearing a sling to hold his right arm and a strap to brace his left.

Steve looked at him almost sympathetically. He didn't have slaves on his ships and he'd never owned any. If someone was working for him, he wanted them there of their own accord. He'd always felt loyalty was a thing to be earned, not bought. For a moment, he almost felt bad that he was trading this man off to yet another person to control his life, but then he considered the alternatives. They couldn't have slaves on a navy ship and freeing them wasn’t something Steve had the authority to do. They would have to depart with him somewhere. Besides, it was impossible to tell the willingness of a slave to engage in piracy. He looked back at Bruce.

"Captain Romanova will see that he's cared for."

"Both of them?" Dr. Banner asked and Steve remembered the other man. 

"Both of them. She has a doctor within her crew who will take over and see to the care of these men. When they are well, I will see to it that word gets back to you."

Steve looked over his shoulder into the cabin to see Natasha nod agreeably at the strong suggestion.

"Bruce has enjoyed having someone to care for, I believe," Steve informed Natasha and Dr. Banner looked a little guilty. 

"It's what I do, Sir," he answered and Steve clapped him on the shoulder. 

"And you're damn fine at what you do, Doctor. I assure you these men are going to be looked after."

Bruce looked a little upset, but he nodded and said only, "Yes, Captain."

“What do they have to lose?” Steve asked him. “They go with us and get turned over, they may be sold again, but they may go to the gallows. Imagine seeing your hard work to care for them only helping them to live to see that kind of end. If they go with Captain Romanova, they have a chance to reform themselves. They may live long lives. We’re giving them that opportunity, Bruce.” 

Bruce nodded again and replied, Yes, Captain.”

=*=*=

James was a little more aware of his surroundings as he was made to cross from The Avenger over to The Widowmaker, but that didn’t make the crossing over the planks any easier for him. If anything, he was more aware of just how unstable his balance really was.

He stepped up onto the board, tested it with his foot and felt the way the wood gave a bit with his weight. He wasn’t afraid of the boards breaking- he’d never seen it happen in all his years at sea. But he was more than a little afraid that he would lose his balance, have no way to catch himself, and topple into the murky water beneath.

He wanted to put his arms out to give himself more balance, but with his latest injuries impairing both limbs, he had to do his best to focus his bleary eyes on the narrow plank and try to put one foot in front of the other. 

The ships rocked, buoyed by the waves and James could feel the movement beneath his grimey boots, still caked in the various substances from the floor of the brig. 

He could swim. That is, he knew how to swim. Whether or not he would be able to after an unexpected fall from such a height and with his arms in the condition they were in was another story.

He held his breath subconsciously and watched his boots as he lifted one and placed the unsteady footfall in front of the other. Then another, lift and step. Lift and step.

He swayed, made himself gasp another sharp breath, and took a quick unsturdy step. The board wobbled underneath his feet and he took another step just trying to keep his balance, but it was futile. He felt himself losing balance before he ever actually fell. That impending sense of dread that engulfs a consciousness just before the body plunges downward swept over him and then he was falling.

He was stopped by a painful jolt as strong arms reached out and grabbed onto his flailing sash just in time to haul him forward. 

Steve, who had been watching from the door of his cabin, jerked forward past Bruce when the prisoner had lost his footing, but then resettled again when one of the crewmen from The Widowmaker pulled him back forward and into the bow of the unfamiliar ship. 

James felt a second jerk that found him suddenly collapsed onto the upper deck of Captain Romanova’s vessel and then he laughed, letting the feeling of the hard wooden surface beneath him sink in.

“Thought I was dead,” he tried to say, but the man that caught him just moved away, leaving him where he had landed.

Bruce looked at Steve and then across at where the former prisoner had just almost fallen and then back around to his captain.

“I’m not going to say I told you he wasn’t well yet, but…”

It was obvious Steve was relieved, but he just made a smug look at Bruce and said, “He’s fine.”

=*=*=

James was sitting on a small cot on the unfamiliar ship later that evening when there was a knock on the door. He'd been placed in a tiny closet of a room- a quarantine he suspected- and left alone. He was surprised when the door opened without him hearing anyone unlock it. He hadn't tried opening the door himself.

"You're imprisoned only by your mind, my friend," said a tall man with grey streaks in his dark hair as he took in James's surprised expression.

James didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't even figured out the rules of the last captain before he'd been sent off with this one.

"I'm Dr. Stephen Strange," the man introduced. "The captain suggested you wash and come to dinner with her. I came to see if you needed anything first- medicine or other care." He motioned toward James’s arm.

James glanced at his shoulder. "I think the other doctor has me sorted."

"In that case, Captain Romanova is expecting you soon." He then stepped back from the door into the tiny hallway. "There's a washtub in the next room already full. I suggest you use it."

=*=*=

Peter hooked his bare feet into the rigging that had been secured to the chains and hung upside down on the net. Steve sat with Sam watching him, but nether said a thing. Peter was going to be someone to get used to.

"Have you decided if you're going to ask assistance from King T'Challa?" Sam asked quietly and Steve took a sip of his drink. It was sweeter than anything he cared to drink tonight, but sailors knew the importance of always staying hydrated.

"I'm torn. He could be very helpful to us. His forces are unmatched. But he has no stake in this. There's no reason to drag his navy into this if he stands to gain nothing from it. As far as I'm aware, he's never had any quarrel with Schmidt."

Sam shrugged. "May still not hurt to ask."

Steve turned his drink up and finished it before setting it aside. The moon was reflecting on the ocean tonight and lighting up the main deck rather brightly. Only two lanterns had been set out by the crew and after a while, Peter asked Steve, "Is it true you play guitar?"

"Rumor," Steve clarified and so Peter pulled out a harmonica from a buttoned pocket in his trousers and began to play much to the shiphands' delight, but Steve wasn't in the mood for music and he sat staring out at the sea as they sailed along toward the inlet. 

=*=*=

James was trying to dry himself off from his bath with one half-working hand when a young unassuming looking woman let herself into the room. She looked as if she had been ready to excuse any excuse he made as to his state of undress, but James didn't look the least bit surprised or uncomfortable or embarrassed. 

"You need a shave?" she asked, flashing a razor kit.

She looked dangerous beneath her cool exterior and James wondered if she knew how to fight. Plenty of pirates didn't, even fewer sailors, and even fewer privateers, but this woman looked as if she may surprise him.

"Please," James nodded. "Thank you."

He was polite by a nature. His mother hadn't brought him up to disrespect women and forget his manners just because he was far from where he'd been taught them. 

The woman seemed to square him up as she looked him up and down. 

"You don't look dangerous," she commented. "You're James Barnes who defeated the crew from The Essex?"

James looked at her mildly surprised. "I am, but that must've been fifteen years ago, how do you know anything of it?"

"My father was being held captive by them. You created the distraction that let him escape."

"Logan," James remembered immediately. "He was fortunate. That was a fight held on land. If they'd been at sea-"

"When free, my father could handle many men in minutes, seconds. He was a ruthless fighter."

James nodded. "Is he not free now?" 

She thought it odd a slave would inquire after someone else's freedom, but she didn't leave James to wonder long. 

"He died when I was eleven," she said, seeming to shake off the thought before flicking a shiny razor out of the kit. "He was indebted to you though. Told me about you."

"Well, you seem like a strong la-"

"I don't need your sympathies, Barnes. It was a long time ago."

She sat down on a stool and placed the razor in her lap so she could create the lather. James stood a moment considering what she had called him. No one called him Barnes. No one ever took him seriously when he told them his full name. Either they believed it was made up or didn't care that it wasn't.

"Either put your pants on or don't, but sit down and stop staring at me," she said after a moment and James's brain seem to jolt back to the situation. He worked a bit, but got himself into his new pants and trousers before sitting down on the edge of the washtub in front of her. 

"I'm Laura," she mentioned as she lathered up his face. 

"Good to meet you," he replied before Laura brought the razor up and scraped it across his neck and up the underside of his chin. The pressure she applied was precise in a way she couldn't possibly understand. If she didn't apply enough pressure, she didn't cut the hairs and only glossed over them with the blade, but if she applied too much, James was a dead man. It wasn't as if she had to do this to herself and it wasn't as if the boat were steady enough for her to always have a perfect knowledge of how hard to press against his skin, but nonetheless, she never hesitated and she never nicked him. When she was finished, James rinsed off his face to see the closest shave he had had in some time.

The mirror Laura held up for him was small, but he looked at his reflection and for a moment, he felt more like himself than he could remember feeling in quite a while.

"Thank you," he told her and Laura shrugged as she rinsed, dried, and packed up the kit. 

"The captain's probably waiting," she told him, but before she could leave James asked,

"Do you mind helping me with this blouse? I can't get it on without a good arm."

Laura shook her head. "Not winning any fights these days, are you?" But she set down the kit and reached for his clean shirt. 

=*=*=

"Two months," Steve estimated and Sam knew what he meant as they both walked to flank the sides of their helmsman.

Sam replied, "Two months and then the months home. You think they'll have supplies we can commandeer or...?" 

"We'll resupply in Wakanda," Steve assured.

"You're not taking anything from Schmidt, are you?" Carol asked as she took her hand off the helm and turned to face their captain.

Steve brought his hand up and held the helm in place as he shook his head. 

"I'm burning it all down to ash."

"What are you going to do when you finish all of this? Just go back to fighting pirates? Where will your zeal come from?" Carol wasn't afraid to ask questions. Steve kind of admired that about her.

"He's going to build a park," Sam answered for him and his voice sounded amused even though he supported anything Steve needed to do for himself. He looked off toward where The Widowmaker could last be seen and then walked over to the railing of the ship, trying to see if he could still make it out on the dark horizon.

"Barnes Memorial Park?" she asked and took the helm back in her grasp.

"I haven't decided," Steve sounded miserable. He glanced off to where Sam had walked and then looked down at his own hands. "It doesn't seem like enough."

Carol furrowed her brow and asked, "How old was he?" 

"Fourteen. It's been twenty-one years next month. It'll be fitting to have an end to it all finally, but-"

Carol looked off at Sam, like she thought Sam should be the one handling Steve at a time like this.

"Hey Cap?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

"Hmm?"

"Were you in love with him?" 

Steve didn't answer for a moment and even the wind rushing past them seem to quiet as she waited on an answer, but all he replied was,

"We were children, Carol."


	3. Does the sea exist because of our longing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t believe I’m fully to blame for Bucky’s death, but I played a part in it." Steve sat down on a barrel nearby and motioned for Peter to sit on another. 
> 
> "How do you stop blaming yourself?” Peter asked. He hopped up next to Steve and looked at him. He’d never seen Steve be vulnerable, but he could see behind Steve’s usually hard eyes that there was something akin to desperation there, something born of pain that Peter had seen in himself before.
> 
> Steve wondered if he looked as young and hopeless as Peter when he first struck out saying he wasn't going to rest until all of the crew of The Hydra were dead or captured. 
> 
> “I don’t know if that feeling ever really goes away.”

"Captain Romanova," James said with a bow of his head once he'd entered the rather spacious office of the infamous captain. 

Natasha stood up from the plush seat at the end of the table and walked over to her newest crew member. Her boots made a clunking noise as she walked and then she pulled her gloves from her hands and tucked them under her arm before she reached for James's freshly shaved face.

"When I saw you boarding my ship, I knew it must be time to pay my debt," she told him, her voice low and raspy. She placed her fingers underneath his chin and raised his head. It took her placing a soft kiss on his jaw for him to look at her.

Her hair was still as red as he remembered, her eyes still as green. But Natalia Romanova was no young girl anymore.

"You should collect, James. What is it I can do for you?"

James looked uncertain of what he was supposed to say. What was she expecting of him?

"There's nothing I could ask of you," he finally told her, his eyes darting around as he tried to find something familiar between them. She looked older, but still youthful, aged only more wise instead of more tired. James was quite sure she didn’t see the same in him.

"You'll think of something," she told him before running her hand gently from his smooth cheek down to his wrapped left shoulder and then down to his metal hand. "Come, dinner is waiting."

On the table, a spread of various roasted fruits, grilled fish, cooked peas and beans, and in the forefront of each, a warm biscuit. James wanted to reach out and grab onto it, to sink his teeth in and let the dough gob up in his mouth.

"Why?" he managed to ask instead.

"You know why," she replied as she took her seat and motioned for him to do the same. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. I owe you a debt."

"All I did was teach you to fight," James said, still standing.

"You did more than that. You hid me on board that ship for over a month. They punished you for it and you still never punished me. When I was found, they were going to sell us both, and you promised them I would be more valuable to them than any slave."

James didn't touch the biscuit. He stood watching her with an unreadable expression.

"You taught me to fight like you fight. And when they welcomed me, when I could fight and prove my worth, we were parted. But I didn't forget my promise to you. You saved my life, saved me from a horrible marriage, spared me from hunger, from the lashes and penalty of my crimes, and you taught me something priceless. I'd like to pay my debt."

James tried to think back to when they had met. Natalia Romanova hadn't been a captain. She hadn't even been a decent ship hand. She was just a hungry girl who had crept her way onto the ship one evening, stealing food and stowing herself away in an attempt to escape the miserable life she was destined for on land. She'd hid onboard when they left port and when James had discovered her, he shared his meal portions with her- as meager as they were. He'd hid her and fed her as they passed from one bay to another and plundered supplies from one vessel to another. She'd been a teenager then, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and James had been just a bit older. He remembered stuffing a sack with a folded empty hammock to provide her a pillow for her to rest on when she was hiding back behind barrels each day in the hold. They'd taught one another their languages and shared their food and she had raked her fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek and told him he had saved her. To a boy who couldn’t have been more than nineteen himself, the kiss was something he’d not experienced before and one of the fondest memories he’d held onto over the years.

"You were a good student," James finally replied.

"I had a good teacher. Please sit."

James took the seat being offered and Natasha nodded toward the food expectantly and James grabbed up the biscuit before it got cold. Biscuits were so rare on ships that they were rarely wasted on slaves. Each one was counted and stamped by the Crown before being distributed to the ships. No doubt as a privateer, Natasha had had to pay for hers. He couldn't understand why she would spare one on him.

"They caught the fish while I was on board _The Avenger_ making a deal to get you. I didn't know it was you so this is certainly a surprise, but not an unpleasant one."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Natasha brushed her hair back behind her shoulder.

"First, eat your food. I had a lot of this made just for you. Second, let your arm and shoulder heal. And third, help me on my ship because we are the definition of a skeleton crew and can use all the help you can manage.”

James sat trying to figure her out. He’d taught her to never take anyone at their word. It would be foolish for him to take her for hers.

“James, that's all I want. And I promise you, I will give you anything within my power."

He didn’t know if she would use the same tricks and mind games on him that he had told her to always look out for, but he wasn’t ready to assume either way just yet. James looked at the spread in front of him and then took another bite of his biscuit.

=*=*=

Steve looked at the sketches he kept tucked into his journal. They were old now, tattered along the edges.

Bucky had been so young when Steve had last seen him and Steve had made sketch after sketch of him during those first few weeks. At first, he was showing them to everyone, hoping to find anyone who had seen Bucky. Later, he was sketching them madly in an effort to remember every detail of Bucky before it was forgotten.

He'd given some of the pages to Rebecca and to Bucky's father. Rebecca probably still had the ones he'd given to her. One of them was buried with George Barnes as well.

Occasionally, Steve considered drawing another picture, but he was afraid he wouldn't be able to. He'd mess up the features or forget an important detail. And he was pretty sure that was a heartbreak he would never recover from so he saved himself the self-hatred and anger and inevitable tears and didn't ever draw another picture of Bucky Barnes no matter how badly his heart and fingers yearned to do so.

"If I don't make it out of this," he told the drawing he held between his fingers, "I hope the stories are true and there's a heaven somewhere where you're happy and you're waiting for me."

He very gently tucked the drawings back into the book, closed it, wrapped the leather strap around it, and pressed the journal to his lips. Steve sighed and set down the book and blew out the candles beside the bed.

=*=*=

Natalia had absolutely refused to let James sleep in a hammock with the rest of the crew, but wouldn't dream of locking him away so he woke up on the soft mattress in her quarters an hour or two after falling asleep. 

Natalia who had assured him she would come to bed "in just a few minutes" was nowhere to be seen and the entire bed looked untouched except for where James lay.

James's shoulder felt like it was on fire so he rolled out of bed and stood up. He walked barefoot from the captain's quarters and into the adjoining office and found Natasha cradling the head of a very happy looking member of her crew.

"Is everything alright, James?" she asked and the man lying on her lap lifted up to see him. 

"You looks worlds better than you did when we found you," the man commented. 

James looked confused a moment so the other man sat up and held out his hand. 

"I'm Clint. I was a part of _The Avenger_ 's crew until we met up with Tasha earlier today."

"Oh," was all James managed and he looked at his hand. "That isn't necessary," he assured as he nodded to Clint's outstretched palm. 

"No one's a slave on my ship, James," Natasha said firmly, "Shake the man's hand if you want."

Clint extended his hand a little further and James took it in his prosthetic hand. It was odd shaking hands that way, but the other arm was still in a sling. Clint’s shake was firm, but gentle, and Bucky didn't feel like he needed to pull away or like Clint wouldn't let him.

"Make yourself acquainted with the ship," Natasha told him as she lit a lantern and pushed it toward him. "Then come back to bed."

James bowed his head silently, took the offered lantern, and stepped out of the quarters and onto the deck. 

_The Widowmaker_ was one of the fastest ships he had ever been on- even faster than he had seen _The Siberia_ sail and it was probably the fastest boat he'd ever been on before. 

It had been years since he'd been able to roam free at night even on a ship so despite the evening chill and his bare feet, he carried the lantern and walked around the perimeter of the decks four times before stopping. 

"What's your name?" a voice called to him and he stopped to see the helmsman of _The Widowmaker_ watching him.

"James?" he replied. 

"Well is it James or ain’t it?" the helmsman laughed. 

James had never taken well to being laughed at. It reminded him too much of being being made fun of back when he first lost his arm. 

"It's uh,” he hesitated, licked his lips. “It’s Bucky," he said with a bit more confidence. He hadn’t been Bucky in years, not since childhood, but something in the freedom of the evening, the bath and the shave, the dinner and the open decks made him remember Bucky. He’d felt more like him looking in the mirror earlier so he smiled a bit as he said it.

"Well then, Bucky," came the reply. "Welcome to our crew. I'm Frank."

"Bucky Barnes," came James's reply. It was more confident than the two previous attempts and he felt an internal surge of pride. 

And just like that, James knew what he wanted from his new captain.

=*=*=

"Why do you hate this man so much?" Peter asked. It was dark out and Peter was hanging upside down from the rigging. Steve was pretending it didn't worry him.

"Have you ever lost someone, Peter?" he asked. 

"Yeah, lots of people- my mother, father, my uncle, a girl I used to think I'd marry."

"Any of them murdered?"

"My uncle was," Peter flipped back right side up and shimmied down the chains until his bare feet landed on the cool, wooden deck. "A few years ago."

"Were you close? Do you remember how you felt?"

"I was angry," Peter admitted and he looked down at the deck. "And Miss Gwen, the girl- we were amazing together and we both just knew we were going to be together, you know? But I was arguing with someone and she was there. We were up high on this bridge over a dried up riverbed. And me and him started shoving at one another. It was stupid really. She got too close trying to stop us and she got pushed off the side. I didn't intentionally kill her, but it was still kind of my fault. I tried to grab her, but it was too late. I couldn't get to her in time, you know? I was angrier about that one because there wasn’t anyone else to blame.”

Steve nodded as he peered back at Peter.

"I don’t believe I’m fully to blame for Bucky’s death, but I played a part in it." Steve sat down on a barrel nearby and motioned for Peter to sit on another. 

"How do you stop blaming yourself?” Peter asked. He hopped up next to Steve and looked at him. He’d never seen Steve be vulnerable, but he could see behind Steve’s usually hard eyes that there was something akin to desperation there, something born of pain that Peter had seen in himself before..

Steve wondered if he looked as young and hopeless as Peter when he first struck out saying he wasn't going to rest until all of the crew of _The Hydra_ were dead or captured. He hadn’t imagined he’d still be on that same mission this many years later.

“I don’t know if that feeling ever really goes away,” Steve said, hating to be the bearer of bad news, but he also felt the importance of treating Peter like the adult he was quickly becoming.

Peter nodded and drew his knees up in front of him on the barrel. He rested his chin on them and sighed. 

“Everyone makes bad decisions,” Steve took a drink and then offered it to Peter. “How you react and learn from them makes all the difference, I think.”

Peter eyed the bottle a moment and then accepted it from Steve's outstretched hand and took his own drink. All the grog had been more bitter than usual lately, but it seemed to suit the mood so no one had mentioned it. 

“Maybe if I help you avenge your friend,” Peter started, but he smirked a bit, passed the bottle back, and didn’t finish his statement.

“What?”

“I just realized where the name of the ship came from.”

“Commodore Carter did that for me. I think it’s apt,” Steve said with a satisfied smirk before turning the bottle up again. 

=*=*=

James sat down across from Natasha the next evening and looked at the spread. It wasn't as much as last night's feast, but it was more than he was used to receiving. It felt like too much. She’d already insisted he do nothing all day. (“Just heal.” Whatever that was supposed to mean.)

"Why are you feeding me like this?" he asked and Natasha suppressed a smile as the man she'd been seen with the night before joined them in the small cabin. He sat down near the captain and grinned a little to himself as she nudged him with her arm.

"James, I believe you shared more than one meal with me when I was younger. Let me repay the favour without making a fuss over it please." 

James ducked his head and nodded slightly.

“Have you thought anymore about what you’d like from me?” Natasha asked as she motioned for the men to start eating. Clint reached for the warm bread in front of him and James followed to do the same.

“I have an idea,” he answered, but then took a bite and remained silent. Natasha and Clint chewed their food and watched Bucky chew his before Clint swallowed and said,

“You thinking to share it with us?”

Natasha had never seen James look as small as he managed to look in that moment so she tried to coax the words out of him by saying, “Anything, James.”

“To go home?” he asked. When Natasha didn’t immediately respond, he kept going nervously. “Not to stay. I know I’m a part of this ship now. That’s fine. That’s more than fine. Just to visit. And it can be years from now. It doesn’t have to be this year. Whenever you see fit. It’s not-“

“James,” Natasha asked, silencing his nervous rambling. “Where do you come from?”

He paused, set down the biscuit in his hand, and then opened his mouth. 

“Brooklyn?”

Natasha looked at Clint quizzically and he shrugged so she motioned for him to grab something from the shelf nearest to him.

“Can you find it on here?” she asked as she directed Clint to hand the stock of maps to James. 

James untied and unrolled the maps and then shuffled through some past various African and European coasts until the North American one came to the top.

“Along here,” James said, turning the map around and pointing to the part neatly inked New York. “Used to be New Amsterdam when my grandparents lived there. And they called Brooklyn by its former Dutch name.”

“Are you Dutch?” Natasha asked, eyebrow raised and she reached across for the maps and took them from James.

“Part of me,” he answered. “Not the Barnes part, obviously. The Hubbard part on my mother’s side. She was Dutch and beautiful and she cooked better than anyone else’s mother could ever imagine cooking.”

Natasha smiled softly and seemed to have a secret conversation with Clint using only her eyes and a solitary arch of her brow.

“Can’t have you hungering after that for too much longer, can we?” Clint answered and Bucky realized what they were agreeing to do. 

He ducked his head and pursed his lips, trying to concentrate. 

“James?” Natasha asked carefully.

“My mother passed when I was a boy. But my father and my sister, my home- I’ve been gone for over twenty years,” he said, snapping his head up to look at her. “I don’t know what to imagine it‘s like there anymore.”

“I know it’s been a long time,” she replied. “You told me you were younger than I was when you first ventured out here. We’ll make port in a week or so. We can go north along the coast and be there in a few days.”

James didn’t know how to fathom that. He’d be home within the month.

“There’s a boy on _The Avenger_ ,” Clint commented, “S’only fifteen.”

“I was fourteen,” James countered, suddenly braver. “I was fourteen and out one night. We were playing hide and seek. And we had been told we were too old to play like children, but-“ James shrugged and Natasha could barely perceive the shock of pain that must have gone through James’s shoulder as he tried to hide his wince. “Some friends and I hid on a ship in port. It was small and open and all these planks were leading up to it so to make it easy to climb on board. We didn’t think a thing of it at the time except that we’d never been on a ship and it was fascinating and there wasn’t anyone around to stop us. But that was the last time we ever saw the place.”

Clint’s eyebrows went up. “The crew didn’t notice you? Before they set sail? Run you out of there?”

“Oh yeah,” James nodded. “They knew we were there. They’d planned it. We were just young enough to fall for something like that.”

“And they sold you?” He asked. 

James shrugged with only one shoulder this time, barely grimaced, and lightened the mood.

“It hasn’t all been bad. I’ve learned about a thousand new places. I’ve seen exotic animals, food, people. Met Natalia.”

“I do sometimes think how sad it is for those on land. Most have never met me,” Natasha said, grinning and rolling back up the maps.

=*=*=

“Including the weapons we took from _The Siberia_ , we should have more than enough to arm everyone twice over and ammunition to spare,” Sam announced one bright afternoon as he looked over sheets that Steve assumed were the store counts.

“I don’t want to just shoot him,” Steve commented, off-handedly. He’d been on the decks just moments ago, but now he was sitting on his bed, boots hanging off the side, and staring out at nothing.

“I know. That’s too impersonal for you and all your bloodthirsty, slow-death retribution, but let’s just get him however we can, yeah?” Sam asked, holding out the list to Steve. “You can still put his head on a spike or whatever gruesome, bloodchilling thing you want after he’s dead.”

Sam was the rational one between the two of them. It was one of the original reasons Steve had decided to keep Sam close. But right now he didn’t want to hear rationality. He wanted to make Bucky’s killer face the same torture he’d he’d shown to the boys that had been kidnapped from the Bay of Brooklyn. 

“We’ll get him, Steve. Let’s focus on that.”

Steve glanced over the numbers and then reached for the captain’s log he kept tucked on a shelf near his bed. Sam retrieved him a quill and ink without being asked and Steve scribbled the numbers into the journal. When he set the book aside to let the page dry, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a wrapped bundle. 

Sam had seen the bundle before- some leather bag with straps wrapped around it. Steve kept it close to his person any time they went off the ship and he secured it to his waist any time they conquered another vessel.

But tonight, Steve just unwrapped the straps and pulled out what was so important to him.

“Bucky’s father gave him this when he was thirteen- a coming of age gift,” he explained as he held the knife out and unsheathed it so the silver blade glistened in the light. “He told Bucky it was for hunting, for cleaning fish, for things like that and wouldn’t let him carry it with him otherwise.”

“He was just being a good father. Didn’t want to send his young boy off with something that could get him in trouble,” Sam assured.

“He always regretted not letting him keep it on him. Thought that maybe if Bucky had had it, he could have gotten free or defended himself.”

“That’s what you want to kill Schmidt with.”

Steve shrugged, but nodded minutely and began to wrap the knife back up when Sam put his hand out on the sheath of the blade to stop him.

“James Barnes,” he read. “His father?”

“No, that’s- that was Bucky’s name. James Buchanan Barnes. George Barnes left the knife to me. Didn’t want it in his possession after everything that happened. I’ve considered giving it to Miss Rebecca, but-” He shook his head, “Maybe after.”

=*=*=

James spread out facedown on the bed the third night on board and made a sound that reminded Natasha of something deflating. She looked over at him from where she was shedding layers of her clothing for something more comfortable. 

"On a scale of splitting your lip to losing your arm again, what's your pain level?" She asked, peeking out from behind folding panels. She hadn’t made him do anything yet except continue checking in with the doctor and eat the food she offered.

"I'm fine," James replied, face smushed into the soft mattress. "Just tired."

"Barnes, don't lie to me. You walked half alive onto this ship three days ago. Don't think I have you taking it easy because I don’t need the help. I have you taking it easy because I know you’re more capable than damn near all of the others and I need you to reach your utmost potential again.”

James was quiet a moment, then spoke up with a defeated sound to his voice. “I can’t pick one spot. It all hurts- my back, my shoulder, my arm, my chest, my whole left side. I feel like my insides are giving up on me and I haven’t even done anything.”

Natasha looked mildly impressed. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you admit defeat before. I must confess I thought it was going to be harder to get the truth out of you.”

James turned his head to face her and smiled a bit resigned. “It’s tell you now or wait until you have pulled and pressed me within an inch of my life.”

“Speaking of such treatment, let me retrieve Wanda. She’s good with her hands. She can help you relax.”

“She knows an art to ease pain?”

“She’s our cook,” Natasha said with a small smile, stepping out in her dressing gown and sticking her head out of the door to speak to someone before turning back to James. “She has quite a talent with her hands though. The things she can do that can make you come apart. Her talent for leaving people a useless mess beneath her. She can-“

“She play piano?” He asked sarcastically, but then added. “You make it sound like something more risqué than muscle relaxation.”

“Have you ever had a massage, James? You may not want her to leave afterward.”

“She will be more than ready to leave. My experience with women is quite limited.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “How’s your experience with men?”

“Not much improved over my experiences with women,” James said with a self-deprecating laugh as he adjusted his body on the bed and motioned to himself a bit. “The shape of this body is less than desirable.”

James tried to shrug, but because he was lying down it didn't look like much of anything and his arm wouldn’t cooperate anyway. Natasha understood and moved to sit on the other side of the bed.

"Anyone should be pleased to be with you, James. You're a better person than you give yourself credit for. I don't think, all those years ago, that any of the others wanted to share food with me. They wanted to do anything from push me overboard to drop me off at the first port we docked to using me for their more personal enjoyment. I was far from home and didn't speak the language. I was hungry. I owe you everything simply because you’re a good man. And I think- should you give someone the opportunity- you'd probably find more people to love you than you ever knew what to do with. You're just that kind of man, James. I don't think you could change it if you tried."

James didn't look impressed or like he particularly believed Natasha at all.

"Natalia," he said with a small smile, "Anyone with half a heart would do what I did."

"I guess you were the only one on board with half a heart then," she reminded and then moved to settle herself into a sitting position at the head of the bed. Her back rested against the headboard and her feet curled under her body as she reached and pulled out a journal.

"You write now?" James asked.

"I can teach myself a thing or two."

"You're a very smart person."

"Just as you told me when you taught me English."

"I meant every word then and now. You are."

"And you're a good man. And anyone should be honored to be with you. You should try letting them."

James pursed his lips into almost a grimace.

"And what would my next master say of my desire for some kind of relationship? He would laugh at me. And I've been mocked enough in my years to avoid it at all costs now."

Natasha shook her head and reached over to brush her fingers through James's messy hair. She hesitated and then brushed it out of his face. "You're not a slave any more, James. I told you- there are no slaves on my ship. I'm a privateer, but I do have to adhere to a code by the Royal Navy. I suppose they've never explicitly said that having slaves wouldn't be permitted, but they don't allow the navy ships to have them and I feel I should follow that lead to keep myself above suspicion. And besides, how could I keep someone bonded to me after knowing the most kindness ever done to me was by someone who was whipped just for showing me such? That hardly seems fair. I couldn't stand for anything like that under my command."

James barely remembered it. He’d been stripped of his shirt, his arms and legs then stretched out by ropes fastened to the mast and side of the ship, and whipped while the crewmen mocked him. The pain was gone from his memory. The taunting wasn’t. The fear that they’d do worse than pour the salty brine water over his wounds was prominent in his mind even if the actual pouring of the brine wasn’t. Pain faded, but the other circumstances stayed with him. He could still remember Natasha screaming when they started to strike him. She’d fought the men holding her back and broken free of them too- gotten a few really good hits in before they’d dropped James’s bleeding form back onto the deck and she stopped to check on him.

"It's been years, Natalia. The time has come to let it go."

The only reason they didn’t immediately toss them both overboard or worse was because she’d fought so well that she impressed them. James had taught her that and now the crew had gained skills too valuable to lose.

"I will never, James. I will remain indebted to you after I take you to this home of yours and after I do anything else you can dream up. A life debt. But one I'm pleased to pay. It couldn't be to a better man.”

He shook his head. “I can see you’ve practiced giving accolades. You’re doing well.”

“You must want me to continue.”

Natasha reached over and brushed hair back from his face again as a knock sounded at the door.

“Wanda, it’s open. Come on inside, please,” Natasha called and a petite, dark haired girl opened the door to the captain’s quarters just in time for a bright bolt of lighting to strike off in the distance behind her. Natasha took note, pursed her lips, and then slipped off the bed. She went and pulled back on layers of clothing and boots while looking over the folding panels again, but this time at the cook.

“Wanda, this is our newest recruit. His name is James and he is a remarkably skilled fighter and I’m convinced the best celestial navigator on any sea.”

“I’ve never seen her this agreeable in her life. There must be something in the grog,” James whispered to Wanda with a smirk.

“Treat him well,” the captain instructed before stepping toward the door and heading back out onto the decks to help the crew prepare for a potential swell.

Wanda looked the man on the bed over with mild trepidation. He may be injured, but he was much bigger than she was and more muscular. Captain Romanova had even warned that he was a fighter and if it warranted a warning from her, he was remarkable at it. Wanda had been around men she hadn’t known in secluded rooms before and her experience told her to never let her guard down, not even when the man looked mostly incapacitated such as the one in front of her now.

“You have pain?” she asked carefully.

“You have magic?” James countered.

“I have training,” she corrected and reached her hand out to hover over the shoulder that had been dislocated, but didn’t touch him. “Is this- Shall we remove the straps?”

It took James a second to realize she was referring to the bands that was keeping his shoulder from moving too much and the leather band that held his prosthetic arm in place. Doctor Banner had popped his shoulder back into socket when James was still mostly drifting in and out of consciousness days ago, but the pain of it had brought him to full consciousness for a few seconds. He’d been lying flat on his back and the doctor had been standing over him, a foot planted on both sides of his torso as he reached down and held onto the arm just above the elbow. James had noted that his prosthetic arm was missing and that his shoulder above that was both in immense pain and somehow better before promptly passing out again.

Wanda began to undo the strap- someone’s belt, James had noted when he’d taken it off to bathe after boarding the other day.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Pierce came in a small strike vessel, they dropped a crew that attacked us on _The Siberia_. _The Avenger_ attacked Pierce. I don’t know what it was all about. Captain Karpov told me to hide until someone came for me. He didn’t want me on deck. I’m used to that. Surprise attacks have their worth and he liked to save me for that. But no one ever came to get me to fight and by the time I realized they needed help, it was too late. They just shoved me down in the hold and locked me in a cell. The captain of _The Avenger_ gave me to Captain Romanova.”

Wanda listened patiently, but then carefully clarified, “What happened to your shoulder specifically? A sword didn’t do this. Doubtful a fist or kick did.”

“When they shoved me below deck. I landed on it.”

Wanda nodded. “Does the muscle ache?” she asked. “Or just the joint where it was-“

“All of it aches,” James admitted. “It’s able to be used, but not without-”

“Let me try to help,” Wanda said smoothly. “You’re fine with my hands on your back, your shoulders?”

James nodded and actually removed his shirt without being asked.

“Anywhere you’d prefer I not touch? Anywhere with unhealed wounds or sensitive skin? Bad memories?” she asked as she kept a keen eye on the man. She noted the chaffing from the prosthetic one arm and the bandaging around the other.

He hesitated.

“I won’t do anything that makes your current injuries hurt more. Is there anywhere else you had rather not be touched? These scars very sensitive?”

James didn’t see if she motioned to his back or not, but he could imagine what it looked like, had seen it on others, the criss-cross of lashings from his younger, more defiant days, so he laughed a bit of a self-deprecating sound as he realized that excluding areas that were sensitive or that had experienced past pain would exclude most of his back from ever being touched. Instead, he just shrugged a bit, grimaced, and said,

“I, uh- I’m fine.”

James didn’t know what to think of the magic, or skill, Wanda displayed. It wasn’t anything he had experienced before. Wanda’s hands hurt as they kneaded their way across James’s backside and neck, as they worked tension out of his shoulders and from down his spine. Everywhere she touched, she had to stop and press hard onto, to dig fingertips and knuckles into, to massage across over and over and over. Nevertheless, James found himself lulled into an overwhelming state of drowsiness.

When Natasha returned to the quarters almost an hour later, she was pleased to find Wanda still working and James sound asleep.

“That’s a skill I’d like to have-” she murmured lowly. 

“I could teach you,” Wanda said as she moved to get up from the bed. 

“No, I meant the ability to fall asleep while being treated like a lump of dough on a kitchen table.”

Wanda smiled a little pleased with herself. 

“He never said a word once I got started. Never tried to stop me.”

“He’s a very good fighter, but his nature isn’t to harm or be aggressive. He has a kind spirit.”

“I think he has a tired spirit right now,” Wanda admitted as she packed up the oil she’d used into a small drawstring pouch and turned to face Natasha. “Call for me if he needs me again. I did my best, but he may need more than just the one massage. Every part of him was tense and carrying himself with straps and slings may cause more tension to build again easily.”

Natasha nodded and went back to remove the layers of clothing again. “Plan to come back in a few days. I trust your judgement.”

Wanda stood by the door a moment, hands fiddling with the string of her bag. 

“Captain,” she started. “Do you think we could do anything more to help the crew of _The Avenger_?”

Natasha stepped out from behind the panels and looked prepared for bed again.

“I can’t ask the crew to help Captain Rogers with his mission. Half would agree and half would just as well throw me overboard than mettle with Schmidt.”

James stirred and they quieted their voices.

“We aren’t in a position to fight Schmidt. If we lost anyone, we wouldn’t have enough to run the ship,” Natasha explained easily. “You’re worried about your brother?”

Wanda shrugged in admittance.

“If anyone will do their best to protect their crew, it’s Steve Rogers. He’s an honorable man who will do right by Pietro.” 

Wanda nodded. “Everyone speaks well of him.”

“He’s after the head of a cruel man to avenge the death of his best friend. He understands loss. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else on his watch.”

Wanda nodded again before saying, “Thank you, Captain,” and taking her leave for the evening.


	4. The Captain's Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and his crew stood dauntless on the decks of _The Avenger_ , staring. There weren’t as many of them and they weren’t afraid to show it. Showing their meager crew had its advantages. It made _The Viper_ ’s crew feel empowered and that made them clumsy, overconfident, and downright lazy in their defense. 
> 
> Those aboard _The Avenger_ were none of that. Steve had watched numerous pirate gangs larger than his own crew fall to his shipmates’ and his command and he intended for this encounter to go very much the same.

Steve fell asleep with the candle burning and woke up to the wax completely melted and dried where it had dripped down onto the table beneath. He frowned and sighed and broke the wax up gently with his fingernail to remove it from the tabletop. Then he swung his feet over the side of the bed and tried to make out the things outside the window nearby. It was still mostly dark, but the crew working on deck had lanterns hanging about the bow to help them see. Steve found the lantern hanging above a shelf at the foot of his bed and squinted to find a match and light the wick. 

All ships operated on four hour rotations so sleep was always limited. The short shifts left everyone just awake enough and just rested enough to feel as if they were never quite enough of either, but the sudden shouting from someone outside got Steve’s body and brain moving a little faster this morning.

He emerged from the cabin still tugging his dark blue dress jacket over his shirt and with his boots still unbuckled when he looked up to the crow’s nest to make out the silhouette of Peter with his telescope.

“What do you see?” he called. 

Peter shimmied down the chains so fast that Steve wondered how he could be so well balanced after having been up so high in a rocking ship. The constant swaying of the crow’s nest usually made even the best of seaman seasick, but Peter landed on the deck seemingly unfazed by the height or swaying motion at all. 

“There’s a ship.” Peter pointed off into the darkness. “Can’t make it out much yet, but it looks like pirates. The flag’s dark and not any country as far as I can tell.”

The captain pursed his lips and nodded before jerking his head in the direction of the helm.

“Come with me.”

Peter followed Steve up to the quarterdeck who then held out his hand for the telescope. Peter passed it over and watched as Steve extended it and peered back out toward the unknown ship. 

“You just noticed them?” 

“Aye,” Peter nodded. “I called the moment I saw them.”

“They’re approaching quickly. They’re either sitting still or they’re heading toward us.”

Steve stepped over and handed the telescope to Carol who let go of the helm and raised the scope to her eye.

Steve took the helm carefully to keep it on the right path and didn’t say anything until Carol spoke up.

“If I’m not mistaken, Captain,” she said, “That’s _The Viper_. That ship is captained by-“

“Madame Hydra,” Steve finished. 

“Ophelia Sarkissian. Do people really call her Madame Hydra?” Carol asked, but Steve gritted his teeth and didn’t answer. 

Carol handed the telescope back to Steve who handed it back to Peter. She took the helm back and began to slowly turn the wheel.

“A few of the crew specifically asked if we’d ever be able to fight the legendary Madripoorian corsairs.” Steve said to the both of them. “I couldn’t promise them anything then, but today may be their lucky day,” He squinted his eyes to focus on the ship in the distance and then turned to Peter. “Wake the ones below deck. Everyone at the ready. If we reach them before dawn, we have have the advantage. I’ll signal Stark.”

 

“Captain, we don’t have an abundance of crew members on this voyage, If they injure us,” Carol warned.

“They’re in league with Schmidt,” Steve reminded. “We have a job to do. Just steer the ship.”

*=*=*

James woke just a little before sunrise when the sky was light and the men outside were getting restless. Natasha was asleep across the bed and somehow the foot of space between them felt like a mile after feeling someone’s hands on his skin the night before. He never realized how much he liked simple contact until he was reminded by someone.

He extracted himself easily from the covers on his side and found his shirt from where he’d discarded it the evening before. It wasn’t easy slipping into it with his arms mostly useless, but he managed and found his stockings and boots. He looked around, momentarily thinking he’d had a vest, but then remembered that more than a simple shirt had been more than he’d been willing to tussle with. He wanted to pull his hair back again, to plait it back out of his face, but he couldn’t so he looked in Natasha’s mirror and sighed and then opened the door, stepped over the coaming, and emerged from the cabin. 

The scant crew were at work on deck, maintaining the ratlines and steering the ship along, scrubbing the decks clean, and shuffling about when James peered out around him. He used to know exactly what was expected of him from the moment he woke up, knew exactly how long he had to eat breakfast and grab a holystone, but the new ship and the still-mending arms left him feeling a bit aimless.

Frank was coming down the steps from the quarterdeck and smiled a tired smile as he passed.

“G’ Mornin’,” he greeted and nodded his head. “I’m heading to the mess. You care to join me?”

Frank was going to bed after, James knew, but he supposed he could eat breakfast while Frank ate supper. Besides Natasha and Clint, Frank was the only person who had willingly spoken to him while he’d been on the ship, unless one were to count Laura who had spoken to him when he first arrived and the ship’s surgeon who had checked in on him daily (which James didn’t because they’d done so under instruction of their captain).

“You don’t mind?” James checked and Frank shrugged and said,

“Nah, Bucky, I don’t mind. We all gotta eat, don’t we?”

He walked across the decks with James following behind him and opened the door leading from the main deck into the room beneath the forecastle. There was a small mess hall just outside the galley, but James had never been there. He’d eaten every meal so far with Natasha or both Natasha and Clint. As Frank started to lead him down steep steps, James figured he’d eaten every meal in the captain's quarters so far because Natasha didn’t want him navigating the small, steep stairs without being able to use his arms for better balance. In a way, he was grateful Frank wasn’t concerned with his injuries. Natasha had been watching over him with so much concern lately that he’d felt more like a liability than he had in years. With Frank, it was obvious that he’d help James if he needed it, but it wasn’t something he intended to do otherwise.

“Frankie Boy!” a voice called out when they reached the mess hall. 

James could hear the smirk before he could see it.

“Who’s your mate?”

 

He turned to see a woman with her chin jutted out toward him and two other women flanking her sides.

Frank smiled and turned toward James.

“Bucky Barnes, say hello to the meanest legal pirate you’ll ever meet.”

James looked between the three women as if to determine which one he meant when Frank added,

“And I’m not even sure which one I’m talking about. I’m just scared and trying to stay in their good graces.”

James slid his shoulder from the belt bracing it and extending his prosthetic hand toward the first woman.

“Sorry, I’d use the other, it’s just-” he nodded toward the sling and then the woman across the table from him extended her hand too.

“Don’t matter which hand you use,” she drawled, and James looked between them to see another prosthetic arm- this one a dark wood and hinged with gold and sealed with something that glinted a smooth, polished look in the dim light coming from the window.

James’s eyes darted up and down her limb and then he kind of laughed a sound that surprised even him. Relief maybe. He had never considered himself great at making anyone’s acquaintance, but there was something immediately comfortable about this time.

The woman reached her other hand over and slid a golden rivet that had been placed into the wooden arm. Suddenly, all the prosthetic fingers moved on golden hinges into a more outstretched position, ready to shake James’s hand. 

His mouth fell open a bit.

“Who- Who made that?”

“Good to meet you as well,” the she replied with a hint of sarcasm. “I’m Mercedes, but you may call me Misty if you promise not to steal my arm right off my body while I sleep.”

“I’m- I’m James,” he managed.

“Bucky,” Frank said again.

“Bucky,” James echoed. He barely glanced up from the arm. It made his prosthetic look like something thrown together with driftwood and rusted nails.

“You don’t know if you’re James or Bucky?” The second woman’s voice sounded more annoyed than entertained, but James could see the glint of amusement in her eye.

“I used to go by Bucky, and now I’m trying it out again.”

“Well, I used to go by Jessica and I still do,” she replied, but didn’t hold out her hand the way Misty had. Instead, she eyed him up and down in a way that many may think was interest, but James knew that look. He’d given it to others. It wasn’t showing interest; it was making an assessment. She looked back up and met James’s eyes with a look that let him know she thought she could take him if she needed to.

James dipped down a bit and lowered his voice to let her know, “A marginally strong-willed tuna could also defeat me right now.”

“Danny Rand, of the Rand-Meachum Manufacturing Company,” Misty replied, changing the subject sharply back to prosthetics. “He is convinced that were we not both constantly at sea on different vessels that we would be a smart match.”

“But she would eat him alive,” Jessica said with a sly smile. He thought those words may also be Jessica’s way of threatening him, but another part of him sensed that she would just say whatever was on her mind instead of hinting at it with an all-knowing smirk the way Natasha always did.

“Have you met Colleen?” Misty asked, motioning to the last woman at the end of the table.

Colleen shook James’s hand and smiled up at him with a soft look in her eye. James couldn’t read that which in his mind made her the most dangerous one at the table.

“It’s good to meet you, Bucky. I watched you almost fall off the rigging on your way over so I didn’t expect you to be joining the crew quite so soon, but it’s good to see you here.” 

“Oh, he’s not,” Frank laughed. “He’s useless, but I’m letting him know who’s counting on his swift recovery.”

James caught sight of Wanda in the galley and she looked up and smiled at him. Her hair was braided back and her face looked sweaty and flushed from the heat of the stove, but she was moving along contentedly and mixing something on an oven-top. 

 

“C’mon, let’s see what she’s got.” Frank nudged at James and they both headed to the doorway of the galley.

“I feel so much better already,” James said in lieu of a greeting. “What you did last night-”

“Please. I was taught that by my mother as a child,” Wanda said with a shrug before looking at Frank. “There’s a mush of potatoes and cheese.” She glanced back at James, “Add some salt and it’s not that bad.”

He nodded as she reached and grabbed them both an empty plate. 

“Hardtack,” Frank motioned toward an open bag of hard biscuits, the thick and cold kind James was more used to eating and not the soft and warm delicacy that he had more recently devoured at Natasha’s table. 

Nevertheless, he grabbed one and placed it on his plate. Unlike the expensive bread Natasha had provided, hardtack had to be dipped in wine or water to make it something actually edible. The mice liked it hard and crunchy, but most half-knowledgeable seamen knew better than to crack their teeth on it without soaking it in something first. It had been the primary staple in James’s diet for the last twenty or so years and he was wondering how mushy the potatoes were and if he could soak the bread in that when Wanda held out two small cups of wine.

He watched as Wanda dumped a heap of cheesy potatoes onto both his and Frank’s plates and then he thanked her.

Misty nodded for them to come back and sit at their table and when he did, he felt something hopeful creeping up inside of him. He didn’t try to identify it then, just settled into a conversation with the people around him, but in the back of his mind, he was still well aware it was growing.

*=*=* 

_The Widowmaker_ may have been a faster ship than _The Avenger_ , but it was the only one. By the time Steve’s crew had flanked one side of -affiliated ship known as _The Viper_ , Captain Ophelia Sarkissian and her crew of Madripoorian corsairs were on the decks and ready. Steve watched as they brandished weapons and hissed curses. 

Steve and his crew stood dauntless on the decks of _The Avenger_ , staring back. There weren’t as many of them and they weren’t afraid to show it. Showing their meager crew had its advantages. It made _The Viper_ ’s crew feel empowered and that made them clumsy, overconfident, and downright lazy in their defense. 

Those aboard _The Avenger_ were none of that. Steve had watched numerous pirate gangs larger than his own crew fall to his shipmates’ and his command and he intended for this encounter to go very much the same.

“May I have her please?” Carol asked, staring down Madame Hydra as the woman stood on the forecastle with a whip in one hand and a musket in the other.

“You know that’s not how we work,” Steve reminded, not taking his eyes off the weapons.

“If possible,” Carol amended. “For Jessica.”

Jessica’s story had been the reason Carol had signed on to this mission. Jessica had been her best friend and the love of her life, but Jessica had grown up around these people -the ones in league with Johann Schmidt. She had escaped them as a teenager, but not without trauma that kept her awake at night.

And then a year ago, Carol and Jessica had been sailing on a private ship when Jessica had gone to a market in port for supplies and never returned. Carol had never known what had happened to her, but had never doubted who happened to her.

“Capture her alive, if possible,” Steve gave the command and Sam on his other side went down the ranks making sure the others had heard him.

They let the pirates rally themselves and exhaust their energy. Tony was steering the second ship within sight and he would provide the backup they needed.

Steve closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer. Peter turned, watching him from down their line, and then stood silently waiting.

When he was finished, Steve raised his sword in his hand, shouted the command, and heard Sam echo it. Immediately, grappling hooks and rigging were being thrown from their ship onto the railing on the decks of _The Viper_ and the crew of _The Avenger_ lunged forward and began to do what they did best.

*=*=*

“I couldn’t find you for breakfast,” Natasha said to James in a manner that stated that she hadn’t tried very hard.

“I had breakfast,” James replied as he used a small brush to scrub at the handrails, his prosthetic fingers locked in place crudely to hold the brush. (Unlike Misty’s arm, James’s hinges were made of steel and were mostly rusting. The pins holding the fingers were either too stiff with rust of too loose with overuse and so certain fingers stuck while other fingers uselessly flopped whichever way his arm hung. He’d gotten used to it.) James wasn’t well enough to scrub the decks themselves yet, but it seemed he had made himself as useful as possible. “You were sleeping.”

Natasha watched James extend his left arm more and more. He’d pushed the belt off and was making the most of the arm that had previously been dislodged. She wondered what the bullet wound looked like underneath the bandages, but James wasn’t wincing and he wasn’t slowing down so she assumed he must be healing.

“How is the other arm?” she asked instead. James was still holding it close to his body and the sling was still in place. 

“Attached,” James laughed, “So better than _this_ one.” He nodded toward the hand with the brush and kept scrubbing.

James was mildly surprised he hadn’t scrubbed his own fingers away over the years. At first, he had hated the job, but he’d soon learned that everyone on a ship scrubbed the decks. Unlike the way those on land thought of it, scrubbing the deck was no punishment. It was a way of life that every crew member aboard a ship was subjected to. Sometimes even the captain would do their part. They scrubbed them with holystone to keep them smooth and clean and then mopped the whole place with salt water every single day. It kept the salt deposits down and kept the wood swollen just enough to hold the planks tightly in place and prevent them all from breaking apart and being swept out to sea. Not to mention that if James wanted to take his boots off right now, he was sure the deck would feel as smooth under his feet as any surface of marble or granite or glass. But James had started with the handrail. It seemed easier to scrub than the deck right now, yet still made him feel like he was earning his keep.

“How are your fingers?” Natasha asked, nodding to his bandaged hand. 

To anyone else, the question may have sounded odd or even sexual, but James knew what she meant.

“I suppose the same,” he replied. “Haven’t tried in a while.”

Natasha hummed once, low and to herself and then left James to continue his work.

*=*=*

Steve crossed the planks thrown over the grappling hooks with a sword in one hand, a shield in the other, and a knife between his teeth.

Many pirates before him had been begrudgingly goaded to board a ship first with the full knowledge that they would most likely be cut down the moment the reached the opposing ship. But Steve wasn’t a pirate and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice lives. He also wasn’t willing to ask anyone in his crew to do anything he wouldn’t, so he always boarded the enemy vessels first. He had a metal-crafted shield in place in front of him that had been designed for him by Thor and made for him by Tony, using both the knowledge of shield work from Thor’s culture (round, easy to carry for protection) and the mind of Tony and his father for creating new and useful things (metal for durability, but lightweight for ease of use).

Steve used the shield to push back the snarling crew on board the ship as he planted his boots stickily on their slimy deck, lowered the shield, and began to swing.

The rest of _The Avenger_ crew landed on deck after him, all filing onto the ship with swords and pistols and knives and axes and swinging with everything in them. They were a small crew, but they could make quick work of most pirates they encountered. With the ships loyal to Schmidt especially, Steve and his crew had discovered that most of the seamen didn’t know how to properly defend themselves. Their knowledge of fighting consisted of little more than wrestling for entertainment and how to aim and pull a trigger on a hunting musket. They had come to sea to gain easy money from piracy and to otherwise skirt their responsibilities (or all responsibilities if their deck was anything to go by).

“Minions,” Clint had laughed once after they had defeated a mostly useless crew. “Hired minions.”

But when fighting for his ideals, Steve didn’t care if they were there for money or there because they believed in a cause. What mattered to him was that they were there at all. Anyone for any reason who would join the ranks of known killers and terrorists of the seas were bad enough to deserve the fate they received. A justified end for an unjustified life.

Which is why it startled him when amid all of the clashing and banging of swords and shots of guns, he heard Carol’s voice scream out, “Wait!” just a second before he felt the bullet pierce through his gut.

He reached out with his sword, slashing into the man beside him and turning to grab at his middle as blood started to soak his clothes.

But Carol was running forward, boots slamming heavily against the slippery deck, and grabbing at the woman standing a few paces off and holding the pistol that had just fired. 

It seemed as if everyone turned to look, but in reality, it was probably just Steve. He seemed to register Tony and his crew showing up and hauling themselves over the railing and onto the opposite deck, but he sheathed his sword and leaned against the main mast.

Everyone around him was yelling, firing weapons, and shocking swords against one another, but Steve was focused on Carol. She sprang forward, her eyes angry and locked on Madame Hydra. The vile captain of _The Viper_ stood with her front pressed against the back of one of her crewmates. She had snaked her black-gloved hands up to wrap around the throat of a dark-haired woman, and it took watching Carol to realize that the imprisoned woman holding the gun was no stranger to her.

Madame Hydra leaned in almost seductively and whispered in her prisoner’s ear as she tightened her grip on the woman’s throat. Then Steve heard another shot and felt a burning hot sensation start to cover the side of his head and face. He stumbled a little, caught off-balance by the shot, and fell to his knees on the now bloody deck.

A towering pirate appeared in front of him, sword raised and ready for the kill, but another sword appeared over Steve’s head and felled the pirate in one clear swoop. Steve turned to see Pietro withdrawing the sword and turning to fight another attacker.

Steve knew he had to get up, but blood was starting to run toward his eye and blur his vision. The last clear thing he saw was Carol fire her gun into the side of Madame Hydra’s temple and the _The Viper_ ’s captain fell lifeless to the ground in front of him.

Then his one eye seemed overtaken by blood and the other by sudden watering and he reached out blindly. Tony caught his arm and helped him back onto his feet as the sounds of swords falling and final bodies toppling reverberated in his ears.

He didn’t need his eyes to know they’d won again. He expected nothing less. They always made quick work of these situations.

“Dr. Banner!” Tony called, searching out the face of their surgeon amongst the now sweat drenched sailors. “Dr. Banner!”

Bruce emerged from the sweat and blood soaked ranks, but he himself was fine. He spotted their injured captain, handed his axe to Thor, and reached to help Tony support Steve’s weight and help him balance on the muck-covered deck.

“Captain,” Sam spoke, wiping sweat and blood spray from his brow, “What of the ship?”

Steve tried to rub at his eye, but only made it worse. He felt at his side for the bag containing Bucky’s knife and when he knew it was secure, he gave his usual order. Keeping his voice steady, Steve gave the command. He knew Sam had nodded despite not being able to meet Sam’s gaze.

“Divide any supplies; commit the dead; sink the ship.”

*=*=*

James was honestly more than a bit surprised when Natasha returned with a holystone of her own and began scrubbing a few feet down from where he was working. Granted, she was wearing leather gloves to protect her hands, but she was still scrubbing the wood like she meant it.

“I’ll try,” James said, “If you need me to.” 

“We have tools if you’d prefer,” Natasha replied as if it were no big deal.

James laughed at himself that the first reaction to spring to mind was to pretend to be offended. Did she really think his natural skill required tools? He went a gentle smile instead.

“I’ve never needed tools. Not after the first few months or so anyway.”

“Nevertheless, Foggy has them if you need them.”

“Foggy?!” James laughed. “Your navigator is called _Foggy_?”

Natasha shrugged. “He’s doing his best. He wasn’t our original navigator. In truth, he’s best at negotiating trade deals and convincing sailors to sign up when we’re in port, but we’ve lost a lot of our crew and we’re doing our best. That’s why I’m happy to have you, James.”

“Are you scrubbing the decks, Captain?” came a loud raucous voice that James immediately recognized as Frank’s. He was laughing and then saying, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I did consider standing here and watching him, but I’m trying to win him over with something here, Castle,” Natasha admitted with an arched eyebrow as she turned to look at their helmsman. His appearance above deck again meant that it was time for James to go back to bed for a while. The four hours had seemed more like two with how great James had felt doing things for himself again. He’d gotten himself breakfast, made friends, convinced a woman named Hope to show him where the deck supplies were, and now he was sanding down the railing like a proper seaman. He wasn’t really tired yet, but his arm ached up where the wound wasn’t healed and his prosthesis rubbed at the skin where it had gotten tender again from disuse. James made a mental note to pad the area with something later so he could keep working without it blistering.

“Trying to convince him of what?” Frank laughed, clapping James on his back and James could feel the ache seeping in again from where Wanda had massaged it out last night. “From what I can tell, Bucky’s more than happy to take on the work. Just throw it at him, Captain. He’ll can handle himself. You ain’t gotta sweet talk him into anything.”

James kind of laughed and shook his head as if to say Frank was right about this one, but Natasha didn’t seem to be following. Her eyes were suddenly distant and she was lost in thought somewhere a thousand miles away instead of standing right in front of them.

“Cap’n?” Frank asked carefully the same time James said, 

“Natasha?”

Natasha cut a cold and confused look at Frank who dropped his hand from James’s back. 

“What did you call him?”

“Bucky,” James answered for him, casual smile on his lips. “It’s how I introduced myself to some of the crew- just a nickname from childhood. You’re still welcome to call me James if it pleases you.”

James was a common name. Natasha had met a hundred of them since she had started sailing. It seemed every other English speaker she met was named James. But _Bucky_? 

She had only ever heard of one Bucky before.

Her eyes darted around his face and then down his body, stopping where the prosthesis stuck out of his sleeve. Her voice was stern and demanding when she looked back at him and asked, “James, how did you lose your arm?”

His brow furrowed. “Captain?” 

He’d never called her that except for the one time a few nights ago when he’d stepped into her quarters for the first time.

“You heard me.”

The tone she was using was new for him and it flashed across his mind that he may have been forgetting his place too easily. He ducked his head down and looked at the spotless deck.

“I lost it when I was young. I was playing. It was just an accident.”

“Boy, I’m the best liar on this whole damn ocean,” Natasha shot back, “And you’re possibly the worst. Tell me the truth.”

James glanced at Frank and Natasha immediately shooed him away with her hand. Then she pulled a glove off, took James by his elbow, and practically marched him into the captain’s quarters.

James glanced around nervously like he was in trouble, but she just pushed him down into a wooden chair beside her desk and then pulled out her own chair to sit level with him. Natasha’s voice was quiet, but just as serious when she said,

“Tell me what happened to your arm.”

“I was young, that’s true,” James managed. He swallowed like he thought the wrong answer may get him into more trouble. “It was an accident. I was playing. I went onto the ship like I told you. I went onto the ship with two other boys-” 

James felt sick. He’d never told this story and he had gotten by just fine that way. 

“Those other two boys weren’t sold, were they?” Natasha asked. “You said you were sold.”

James shook his head. He’d watched everything that had happened to them- had been made to watch as they were tortured -limbs broken or cut from bodies and insides cut into. He still had nightmares about it sometimes filled with screams for help and screams of pain and dying gasps.

James swallowed hard and looked up at her steadily. “They were murdered by Johann Schmidt. Cut into pieces and tossed into the ocean.”

Natasha didn’t flinch.

“Why not you?”

James took a shaky breath. Michael and Arnie had been right there with him. Schmidt and one of his crewmen had sliced and hacked at them- first Michael, and then Arnie, and then-

“They started to-” he raised his prosthesis as if to show the obvious. “They’d already thrown the bloodied bodies of the others over. I was screaming. I was scared. I was still young,” he excused as if he needed to excuse being scared. “I knew what they had planned for me.”

James shook his head and tears fell quickly down his face and onto his trousers.

“Something exploded,” he said, shaking the tears away and seeming to catch his breath better. “Something exploded outside the- the-” he motioned, “the room and they already had me tied up so they ran out onto the deck. There was fighting. I don’t know what happened. I think one of the crew had set off the explosion- gunpowder accident? Their attention turned to fighting each other and then they realized the explosion had damaged the boat, I guess. Schmidt killed some of the men and the others took the lifeboat, left me tied where I was. I managed to tie off my arm with my blood-slicked belt- held it tight between my teeth for hours, then put the belt strap between my knees, then under my shoe. Just pulled tight and trying to keep it from bleeding anymore.”

James laughed a mirthless sound and Natasha reached out, but stopped and put her hand on the desk beside her.

“Kept telling myself to let go of the belt. Just let myself die then instead of when the boat sank. I could tell by that point that something was wrong with it, but it was taking on water slowly at least. Waited there for what felt like forever, but it was only a few hours because it was early dawn when I heard this other boat nearby. Guess they saw the ship was sinking, but not too fast so they came to try to help. Doubt they would have boarded, but I started screaming again. Don’t know how I managed honestly my mouth was so dry, but they found me. Helped me. Their surgeon-”

James motioned to his arm like that was the end of the story. He seemed to think that was all Natasha wanted to know, but she leaned closer.

“They helped you and then they sold you?”

“No. I kept crying, saying I wanted to go home, like children do. They said they couldn’t take me home. They were wanted in Brooklyn. They took me down the coast. Dropped me off somewhere there so I could make my way home. Even gave me a little money. They were good men. But I was a young boy alone, still on the mend, and an easy target. I never made it twenty minutes from the docks.”

“You must’ve made a poor cabin boy,” Natasha said, lightening the mood the best she could. She could tell James needed that more than he needed much of anything.

“The _worst_ ,” James laughed. “But when they found out I could read stars-”

“You never got to go home.” Guilt washed over Natasha’s face and James was surprised it was so obvious. She was usually impossible to read and now she looked ashamed that she’d been keeping him for the same reason as his first captain.

“It’s okay,” James assured. “It’s not your fault. I’m happy out here now. I just want to go back to visit. I’ll come back and read stars for you as long as you want.” He flexed his fingers on his broken arm as if to prove a point.

Shaking her head, Natasha slid to the end of her chair and took James’s hand between her own. His fingers were cold between her warm palms.

“No, I mean, you never got to go home. The people you left at home never got to find out the truth- that you’re still alive.”

James grimaced. “I can’t hope that they’ll be still living there when I return. It’s been over twenty years. Who is to say that anyone will still remember or care?”

“Steve Rogers cares.” Natasha looked straight up into Bucky’s still glistening eyes.

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers. The captain of _The Avenger_.”

James’s eyes widened. “Steve?” His mouth opened and closed a few times before he said, “He was supposed to come and find us the night we climbed aboard Schmidt’s ship. Hide and seek.”

“He thinks you’re dead. And he’s hellbent on making Schmidt pay for it.”

James took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on his sleeve before standing up. “I need to change what I want from you. Again.”

Natasha stood as well. “Anything.”

“We can’t let Steve fight Schmidt on his own. We have to go aid _The Avenger _.”__


	5. Thought there be fury on the waves, beneath them there is none.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want me to fight them for you?”
> 
> “Easy,” Laura warned as she ducked into the captain’s quarters unannounced and handed Bucky the shaving kit he’d requested. “I’m no doctor, but I’d assume you’re not in fighting condition just yet.”
> 
> Bucky smiled a little. “Wanna see?”
> 
> Natasha and Laura both eyed the arm still in the sling.
> 
> “When that arm is healed,” Laura threatened, pointing to Bucky’s recuperating limb, “I’ll be happy to knock you flat on your back and make you cry for- Who is it again? Captain Rogers?”

Sam stepped into the cabin and made his way across the floor on warm, bare feet. The captain’s quarters of The Avenger had large bookshelves on either side of the room and the bed where Steve slept was carved out of the same wood as the shelves and fitted longways between them on the left. Sam assumed it was more for stability of the bed and shelves should the ship be caught in a swell, but with how much Steve used the shelves, he figured that Steve thought they had designed the room with the bed’s proximity to maps and journals in mind. Steve was always looking at things by how he could use them rather than why they were created.

“It’s a nice day out. Want me to carry you out to see it?” Sam joked, going and leaning over Steve’s propped up body that was nestled onto the bed. 

Steve smirked up at him. “Sounds like your idea of a good time, Wilson,” he answered, “Playing Captain while hauling around a dependent to make you look as if you’re a caring soul.” (Steve was choosing to ignore that he knew for a fact that Sam was probably the most caring soul on the whole damn ship.)

Sam shrugged and reached for Steve’s usual tricorn from where it hung on a peg on the nearby wall. He popped it on his head, adjusted it a bit, and then lazily saluted the captain.

“Do I look like you now?”

“Dashing?”

“No. Brash and overconfident.”

“Not at all. You still look like a fool with delusions of grandeur except you’re wearing a nice hat this time.”

Sam cocked his head to the side, but didn’t remove the hat as he fixed Steve with a look.

“How are you feeling today, Cap?”

“Better than before,” Steve answered and motioned across to the ship’s surgeon. “And Dr. Banner seems to think I’m doing better today too. We’re still making our way there, right? You haven’t gotten us lost? I don’t want to end up in Peru tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we’re still making making our way there, albeit not at the speeds we had been,” Sam updated his captain. He looked at the map constantly spread out on Steves table and reached to move the little wooden ship along to the approximate location they were now sailing. When Sam lifted his hand, Steve tried to raise himself to see the map better.

“You should be better recovered before you try to fight anyone,” Bruce spoke up from where he sat at the far end of the little table. “Especially since you’re making this the fight of your life, Sir.”

Sam agreed. “Yeah, take notice that the good doctor said, ‘fight _of_ your life,’ and not ‘fight _for_ your life.’”

Steve brushed them both off. His head was bandaged up a bit to keep the wound there from reopening and seeping blood again, but it was more of a steady graze against the side of his head than anything. It hadn’t needed to be sewn more than a few stitches. And the bullet that had been fired into his middle passed right between his liver and his stomach before hitting a rib and lodging there without damaging either organ.

“You better be careful next time,” Dr. Banner had told him as he watched what his hands were doing during surgery instead of watching Steve bite the piece of leather between his teeth. “It’s unlikely you’ll ever be this fortunate again.”

If Steve hadn’t been biting onto the leather strap with so much force, he would have asked Bruce, “You think _this_ is fortunate?”

Dr. Banner had extracted the bullet in the captain’s abdomen with forceps and easily removed it, but according to Steve the real pain didn’t even start until after Bruce sawed his chipped rib bone down to keep it from puncturing other organs and then promptly doused the whole area with a disinfectant. 

Instantaneously, something had Steve yowling, gasping, and hissing at the burning sensation flooding through the wound. It was probably best that Sam and Thor were holding him down to keep him from sitting up automatically without thinking, maybe even punching Bruce without thinking.

“What _was_ that?” Steve panted, pulling the leather strap from his mouth.

Dr. Banner tried not to laugh. It wasn’t really a funny moment, but he’d never seen Steve lose his composure before.

“It was your rum, Captain,” Dr. Banner held the bottle up where he could see it and Steve cracked his eyes open just enough to see the now half-empty bottle of his favorite rum- first drunk liberally by Natasha and then poured generously by Dr. Banner.

“Thought I was supposed to drink that after to numb the pain,” Steve managed. It was obvious the wound hadn’t stopped burning just because Steve had stopped sucking in air through his teeth. He was still grimacing and acting like he wanted to hold his middle somehow.

 

“It washes out infection,” Bruce explained. “You’ll want it to do that before you use it to get drunk.”

And Steve didn’t usually get drunk. His father had been too fond of liquor and had therefore been absent most of his childhood, but he planned on getting drunk after this- hopefully drunk enough to pass out and not wake up for days.

It had been a pipe dream however. Steve had gotten drunk and woken up just a few hours later with his sewn up wound and a thick bandage wrapped around his torso, medical cloth still wrapped around the crown of his head, and now a splitting headache just to add to matters.

Four days later and Steve wasn’t exactly back to his old self yet, but at least by then, he’d stopped drinking the rum. (He was also out of his favorite rum by then which was probably the biggest contributing factor to the cessation of consumption.) Although, he did report to the doctor that the pain had lessened, or else that his tolerance of it had risen. Dr. Banner suggested it was most likely a bit of both.

“I do think you look better today,” Sam assured in all seriousness and Steve nodded a little in agreement. 

“I’ll be in working order again in no time,” he assured. “I’d suffer it all again to eliminate those pirates. Sarkissian was a direct loyal to Schmidt.”

Sam nodded. “You rest up,” he instructed, adjusting Steve’s hat on his head more to complement his words than for fit. “I’m going to go _‘Play Captain’_ a while more.”

*=*=*

Captain Romanova may have assumed her crew would stage a mutiny the moment she informed them they were changing course to assist _The Avenger_ in Rogers’s single-minded war against Schmidt, but it turned out that if any of them had anything to say against the mission, they kept it to a low grumble.

“Perhaps they’re scared of you. You’re vicious when you want to be,” Bucky shrugged in suggestion. He’d been thinking of himself as Bucky since he’d shared his past with Natasha a few days ago and something about it kept bringing a smile to his face. That, or he’d had the belt off his shoulder since yesterday morning and now late into the second afternoon, he was starting to feel a bit freer in every sense of the word.

“Some of them respect me. Some of them hate Schmidt as much as you or Rogers. Some of them, I’m afraid they’re biding their time.”

“You want me to fight them for you?” Bucky laughed.

“Easy,” Laura warned as she ducked into the captain’s quarters unannounced and handed Bucky the shaving kit he’d requested. “I’m no doctor, but I’d assume you’re not in fighting condition just yet.”

Bucky smiled a little. “Wanna see?”

Natasha and Laura both eyed the arm still in the sling.

“When that arm is healed,” Laura threatened, pointing to Bucky’s recuperating limb, “I’ll be happy to knock you flat on your back and make you cry for- Who is it again? Captain Rogers?”

Rather than argue back, Bucky laughed and shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s a captain. He was going to be a carpenter like his father. He wanted to make things- toys and furniture- and paint them and- Does he still draw?”

Natasha and Laura who had been watching him with amusement now both furrowed their brows.

“Draw what?”the captain asked.

“Anything. On- on paper with ink or coal. He used to always be in trouble for using his slate to draw while Master Phillips was giving lessons. And then he wouldn’t have enough left for his schoolwork. He started bringing extra charcoal pencils with him for his drawing habits and then he started going through the paper so quickly that his father said he was going to make their family destitute over some birch pages.”

Bucky grinned ear to ear at the memory and then laughed outright. 

“One time,” he recalled, even his slinged arm moving a little as he tried to animate the story, “Steve was about twelve probably, and Master Phillips caught him drawing one of his coals down to a nub. And in a fit of anger he tore the page from Steve’s lap and puffed up as if to scold him, but he saw Steve’s drawing and it was so good, he forgot to even paddle him for it because Steve had drawn a portrait of Master Phillips and it was such a likeness that he was just caught there staring like a fish with its wide eyes and mouth agape. It hurt the rest of us from trying so hard not to laugh.”

Natasha and Laura were both giggling lightly too by the time Bucky shook his head at the memory and started taking the razor from the kit.

“Sometimes now,” Bucky confessed, “I’m in port somewhere and see bundles of paper for sale. It’s so inexpensive now that I wonder if he’s somewhere going through it as fast as his fingers can draw.”

Laura took the razor from Bucky’s hands and pulled a face at him.

“You may be feeling better, but that wooden hand still can’t shave, I bet.”

Bucky didn’t argue and instead just held a towel up to his chest to protect his clothes from the cream.

“Just a trim,” he requested, turning to fully face Laura. “Leave me enough to not look like a young boy again.”

Laura began to mix the lather and just smirked. “If you shaved it all off again, Captain Rogers would probably recognize you.”

“For that, I would have to be a head shorter, cut off most of my hair, and have a gap between my teeth again.”

From somewhere behind him Natasha spoke up, “Oh, that sounds attractive. Rogers must have really fancied you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and bit back a smile. “He was as thin as a rake, had freckles up and down his arms, and a cow lick on one side of his forehead.”

“Oh, so you fancied him too?”

Bucky laughed low until Laura grabbed his chin and flicked out the razor. “Stop talking. I don’t want to cut you with this.” And she darted her eyes over at Natasha to silence any jokes that may have been on her lips as well.

*=*=*

By the end of the week, the bandage had been removed from Steve’s head and his abdomen was looking considerably better. He had gotten dressed on his own and was sitting at the table looking over the map with Sam when something outside the cabin caught his eye.

There was someone he didn’t know on the decks. He braced his hand on the table and stood up to get a better view thinking that maybe he’d been mistaken, but no. There was a boy, a teenager probably not even Peter’s age with his face down and helping Pietro, Sharon, and Thor to scrub the main deck.

“Sam-” he started, not even looking at the man sitting across from him, but the quartermaster didn’t even let him question the new addition to the ship before he was silencing Steve’s queries.

“He’s not a pirate. His name is Rick Jones. He’s a prisoner from _The Viper_ ’s brig. Just a lad.”

Steve ambled over to the door and peered out of the glass and then opened the door for an even clearer look.

“Thor interrogated him?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Thor questioned him and we decided he’s of no threat to us.”

“You should have asked me,” Steve said firmly. “We don’t simply add new members to our crew, especially not ones we find on Hydra affiliated pirate vessels.”

“He’s fourteen, Steve. How much danger could he be? Thor questioned him and Banner checked him over for illnesses and because you were laid up in bed half-drunk, I made a decision.”

Steve watched the boy scrub the deck with fumbling hands. His head kept turning to watch how Sharon was doing the work and then trying to copy her technique with the holystone. Steve imagined he had looked like that when he’d joined his first crew as well.

Thor assessed people with the best judgement of any of them. He gave no leeway for excuses or patchy explanations and allowed no one to take him for a fool. Steve had always trusted whatever judgement Thor had passed on the prisoners they came across and they had allowed exactly two former-prisoners to join their ranks before, but this was different. The ones who had joined their ranks before were previous navy men who had been captured, not pirates, and not civilians. Still, the boy did look harmless, bent over in ill-fitting clothes and rubbing his soft fingertips raw.

Steve stepped out to try to make the most of the situation, to speak a bit to the boy himself and then probably apologize for not trusting Sam’s decision. He walked across the deck, reveling in the way the wind felt ruffling his hair and clothes after days of staying in his cabin.

Sam smiled smugly as he walked over and stood in the doorway, watching the captain stop in front of the swabbing workers.

“Mr. Jones, is it?” Steve asked and the boy looked up to see the captain.

Upon recognizing Steve’s unfamiliar face and nice uniform, Rick stood up, letting the holystone fall clattering to the deck.

“Yessir,” he answered, straightening his shoulders, and putting both hands straight by his sides.

But Steve wasn’t looking at his shoulders or hands. Steve was looking at his face. 

Sam saw as Steve’s own face went pale, paler than it had been even after days of injury and being out of the sun.

Steve blinked a few times and even said, “Buck?” before coming to his senses. 

In an instant, he had snatched Rick up by his collar and shoved him, marching him backwards until the boy’s back hit against the main mast.

“Who are you?” Steve demanded, getting incredibly close to Rick’s face. His eyes were hard and his grip around the boy’s collar didn’t let up.

“R-Richard Millhouse Jones!” the boy sputtered. “S-son of Alfred a-an-and Elizabeth Jones. F-from New York!”

Steve looked him over a second, horror all over his face. His eyes darted all around the boy’s features, studying them from the close range and then his expression softened for a moment and confusion blanketed his face, before his eyes turned cold again.

“Put him in the brig!” he ordered, shoving the boy toward Sam again and looking around at his crew.

“Steve-“ Sam tried. 

“Don’t question me!” Steve barked and his entire crew watched him with a kind of eeriness that hadn’t ever filtered through their ranks before. There was a sudden fury in Steve they had never seen and all of them seemed frozen in shock at the sudden change in their leader.

“Captain-“ Dr. Banner spoke up, but Steve just pulled the child back by his arm and shoved him at Bruce with such force that the surgeon had to catch the boy to keep him from falling.

“I’ll speak to you when he’s in a cell, Doctor!”

Steve noticed a few eyes darting up toward Carol at the helm and he looked up to see her standing there with an obvious air of defiance.

“Where is she?” he yelled, leaving Bruce and the boy to instead stamp his way across the deck and up onto the forecastle.

“Steve-“ Carol tried, and her voice was steady and unwavering as Steve reached the top of the stairs. “You’re not yourself.”

“We have rules, Carol,” Steve snapped, his eyes darting down to see the dark haired girl who had ducked behind the half wall of the upper deck. “It doesn’t matter who she is to you. She was with _them_.”

Carol stepped in front of Jessica and looked Steve in the eye stubbornly. “Not willingly and you know it.”

“We’re pirate hunters, Carol. She was-” Steve motioned to his abdomen where bandages were still beneath his shirt and vest. “She was one of them just days ago.”

“She was captive there!” Carol argued, planting her boot closer to the furious captain.

“It’s not for us to decide if she’s guilty or not!” Steve had never yelled in anger at any of them before today. “She was one of them! She doesn’t change loyalties just because she’s changed ships! We have a policy-”

“This is not the same!” Carol snapped.

“It’s exactly the same! If she had not gotten to me first, she would have been slain with the rest of them!” Steve took a step closer too and then he and the helmsman were face to face.

“You know she was taken by them!” Carol spat and then gritted her teeth and held her ground. “You know that’s what they do. And you know how that turns out for most of them. Jessica did what she had to to stay alive.”

Steve shook his head angrily and was about to respond when Carol added another thought Steve had been unprepared to hear.

“What if it had been Bucky?”

Carol’s words hit Steve worse than any shot Jessica had fired. It felt like ice ran through his veins as he took a step back. Then his eyes darted to the main deck again where Bruce still held the young boy.

“It’s fine,” he heard an unfamiliar voice speak up. Jessica was standing now and had her hand on Carol’s arm. “It’s alright. We’ll go to the brig. I understand.”

Carol turned toward Jessica to protest when Jessica held up her hand to stop her. She walked to the stairs, but before she descended, she looked sympathetically at Steve.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Captain,” she spoke calmly, solemnly.

Steve bristled. “I’ll consider accepting that when it’s healed,” he said with a motion to his wounded middle.

Jessica shook her head. “I meant about your friend.”

Without another word, she made her way down the steps and onto the main deck. Approaching Rick, she reached out and motioned toward the door to the inside and then the hatch. 

“Show us to our cells, Doctor.”

 

*=*=*

“Are you open to special arrangements?” Bucky asked before he joined Natasha for dinner that evening.

She opened the door to her cabin to see Clint already sitting there waiting. “Apparently,” she said with a look over her shoulder to Bucky.

He chuckled lowly and both made their way to the set table.

“I was thinking that if you agreed, I could sleep in the hold and-” his eyes drifted from her to Clint. Natasha smiled.

“When that wound on your shoulder is better healed, you can sleep in the hold. What’s the matter? Are you not sleeping well here?”

Bucky shrugged a little, proof that his shoulder was actually healing.

“I thought it may be for the best.”

“You like your new friends better than me, James? Frank, Misty, and the lot?”

Bucky picked up another of the soft biscuits. They were getting staler than they had been before. He knew it was only a matter of time before they either grew mold, attracted bugs, or ran out. Soft biscuits didn’t last long on a ship. Natasha had just been fortunate enough to get some a few days before she’d been reunited with him. It wasn’t as if they had been actual gifts for him or anything though Bucky had felt very much like they were.

“There’s not a better friend than you,” Bucky said, biting into the biscuit.

“What about Steve Rogers?” Natasha asked, eyebrows arched.

“I haven’t seen the man since we were children!” Bucky laughed. “I don’t know what kind of person he is now. I mean, I have a hard time imagining that he’s changed very much, but he may have. I’ll have to meet him again to see for myself.”

“He has yet to change any since I met him and that was almost a decade ago,” Clint commented. “He wasn’t a captain then, but he was strong, steadfast, noble.”

Bucky took a small bite and smiled down at the table as he chewed.

“That does sound like Steve. He always was an upright do-gooder who put the rest of us to shame. Oh, until he thought there was something unjust happening. Then he would give someone a black eye so fast that his mother probably wore out her arm using a switch on him and she probably prayed for him until there was a worn spot on the floor by her bed.”

“Captain Rogers is still very intense,” Clint agreed. “He has a strong moral sense and it’s hard to sway him from it.”

“Of course,” Bucky agreed, “But it is surprising that he cares so deeply as to still be on a quest to avenge me even this many years later.”

“I think your loss really changed him,” Natasha said, sipping her wine. “There’s still a good heart there and a desire to make the world better, but there’s an anger too. It keeps a fire going that just allows him to burn his path across the ocean.”

Bucky didn’t know how to reply to that. He’d stopped even trying to come home over a decade ago, hadn’t realized it would matter to anyone else at that point.

“There’s a sadness,” Clint corrected Natasha gently. “I think he’s still sad inside.”

*=*=*

Steve tried to slam the door behind himself, but Sam caught it and charged after him.

“Steve-”he protested.

Steve dropped to his knees in front of the bookshelf beside his bed and pulled his journal off one of the slats. His breathing was heavy and his body was shaking. The diary’s leather cover was wrapped around and around with a long leather string and tied to keep the loose pages in, but Steve studiously unwound them. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Sam asked. “This isn’t the man any of us swore allegiance to.” He motioned toward Steve even though the captain wasn’t looking anywhere but his own hands. “And we sure as hell didn’t agree to locking prisoners away like we’re no better than the ones we got them from.”

Sam waited, watching as Steve’s fingers fumbled with the book. It wasn’t until Steve got the thing opened that Sam noticed he was crying. A tear hit the page and ran over the slate letters as Steve extracted the loose sketches and handed the old birch paper upward to Sam without looking at him.

Sam took the pages carefully. It was immediately obvious that they were old, that Steve had kept them there very carefully tucked away. He rotated the stack of artwork to face him and took in the image on the page.

A young face on the first page was laughing, a small gap in his teeth and a brightness in his squinted eyes.

Sam lifted it, shuffling it to the back and the next picture stared back. A portrait of a boy, small smirk on his face, and staring straight out. The next he was pouting and the next he was downright grumpy looking before the next had him looking cheerful again.

All the same boy. All incredibly familiar looking. All very old pieces of art.

“I would ask why you have pictures of Rick, but these drawings are older than he is.”

The portraits on the pages looked nearly identical to the young teenager they had just locked in the brig below decks. Hauntingly similar.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve’s voice was nearly a whisper, but then more tears fell. He wiped them quickly. “That’s Bucky Barnes.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. His eyebrows raised. He looked at Steve and then again at the images.

“You just imprisoned a boy because he looks like someone he isn’t?”

Steve huffed as Sam handed the sketches back. He didn’t reply as he put them neatly into a stack. He looked down at the top one a moment- hard faced, but still teary-eyed. Then he tucked them back underneath the leather cover of the book. The long, leather strap was wound around and around the journal and tied closed before Steve placed it back on the shelf where it belonged.

There was a long silence before Steve dropped his weight solidly to the floor, wiped his eyes, and looked up at Sam from where he sat. 

“I can’t have him out there,” he replied, voice strained. “I can’t do that to myself.”

Sam’s voice got a lot softer as he tried to reason with his friend. “It’s not about what you can do to to yourself, Steve. It’s about being fair to that boy.”

Steve swallowed, nodded, and then replied, “Give me some time?”

“Not too long.”

*=*=*

“How’s the arm?” a voice Bucky had come to recognize as the ship’s surgeon asked as Bucky sat on the forecastle deck that evening.

He shrugged. “Feeling better, I think,” he admitted and Stephen Strange came and sat down beside him. It was a bit odd. Bucky didn’t consider himself and the doctor friends exactly. They were more just two men employed on the same vessel.

“So you ended up out here by a kidnapping, huh?”

With his permission, Natasha had told the crew his past when she told them why they were turning around. Everyone knew Bucky’s story now. 

“I imagine I’m not the only one. How’d you get out here?”

“Not kidnapping. I’m out here of my own free will.”

Bucky shrugged and the doctor noted how much easier it seemed for his shoulder to do the motion.

“I am now,” he replied. “I don’t even know where I’d go. All of the skills I know are honed for this type of life.”

“The rumor is that you’re a fighter. That your master had you fight his duels and such for him.”

Bucky flopped backwards, his legs still folded like before, but his back now against the sanded wood of the deck.

“I’ve fought many men’s fights over the years,” Bucky said. “I figure it’s time to go fight my own. Whether or not he realizes it, this isn’t Steve Rogers’ fight. It _is_ mine.”

“Some of the crew are anxious.” Stephen looked back at Bucky and at what he was doing. He followed his eyes up to the sky and then glanced up there himself. He wasn’t sure what Bucky was staring at exactly. It looked the same as every other night.

“About joining Steve?” Bucky couldn’t bring himself to call him Captain Rogers even if it had been years since they’d last been together.

“About the fight. Schmidt’s known for being ruthless. Many of them aren’t very skilled in combat.”

Bucky didn’t reply. He just shuffled his wooden hand up to help hold the sling open and then maneuvered until his broken arm was free of it.

“That isn’t healed yet,” Dr. Strange said immediately. “I cannot believe you just did that right here before my very eyes. Most people at least try to hide their disobedience from their physicians.”

Bucky smiled to himself and held his arm up. It felt good to stretch it even under the glare of Dr. Strange.

“Stay in it now and you should be healed enough to come to the rescue of your daring, handsome beau by time we make it to the shores of Schmidt’s rendezvous.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just sat up and held his hand out a short distance from his face, spreading his fingers the best he could to match up along the stars.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?”

Bucky allowed himself a small smile, but stayed focused. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since childhood.”

“But he must have meant a lot to you for you to want to turn the ship around and go help him.”

“He’s fighting for me,” Bucky explained, still focused on his fingers. He brought his prosthetic hand up to meet the other and Dr. Strange watched as he clearly took some kind of measurement against the skyline and the stars.

“And you’re sure he’s worth fighting for in return?”

“When we were children,” Bucky said, returning his still-healing arm to its sling and ignoring as the doctor adjusted and inspected it to make sure Bucky had managed everything fine. “Steve- Captain Rogers- and I did this kind of thing every night.” He nodded toward the stars. “We used to talk about running away together to explore the world, but it wasn’t serious. He was going to be a carpenter and I was going to take over my father’s clerk position and we never imagined we would ever actually be out here. Now that we are, I have to join him. He could die fighting Schmidt and I could never just stand by knowing I didn’t even try to help. I may not have seen him in decades, but I’m a better friend than that.”

“You measured stars every night?” the doctor asked and Bucky laughed as he got to his feet. 

“Frank,” he called to the helmsman. “Turn to starboard until you’re following-“ He stepped closer so he was right beside Frank. “Following that star.”

“I haven’t changed the course Foggy told me,” Frank said, looking perplexed and Bucky looked smug. 

“Foggy’s doing a job he just learned. I’ve been following stars since I was old enough to understand that a compass always points north.” He looked pointedly back at Dr. Strange. “I didn’t join this crew to fight. I joined to do this. Let me do my job.”

“Follow which?” Frank asked. 

And Bucky took a deep breath and pointed with his prosthetic. 

“Do you know your constellations? Follow the tail of Hydra. They didn’t pick their rendezvous point by chance. And unfortunately for them, we too can navigate the cosmos. And we can do it in secret. Years ago, they caught me by surprise. Now I think it’s time for a little surprise of our own.”

Frank began to slowly turn the wheel to get the ship back on its accurate path.

“Aye,” he replied. “Yes, Sir.”

And no one had ever called him “sir” before, but Bucky just rolled his neck a little and loosened up his shoulders, stepped to the edge of the ship, and watched _The Widowmaker_ slice into the black waves below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> In the comics, when Steve is first unfrozen and is walking through New York, he gets very excited to see Bucky. Only it isn't Bucky. It's Rick Jones. And they look just alike. And when Rick tries on Bucky's costume later, Steve loses his goddamn mind just like he did here and it scares the bejeezus out of Rick Jones. So if you didn't know, now you know.


	6. Made to feel small, but free as well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, yeah, you’re safe for now,” Bucky assured. “Besides, if you did anything against this captain, I believe she would handle you herself. The month before we joined the crew, she keelhauled one of her long time associates. That’s not rumour; that’s fact."
> 
> “Bucky,” Misty called out. “Stop scaring the new recruits.”

Everyone sat up a little straighter as Natasha exited her quarters and appracoched Bucky as he sat with Misty, Frank, and Hope, laughing and passing around a bottle of Rotruvian rum.

If anyone was unhappy with Natasha’s decision to aid in the battle against Schmidt, Bucky was fairly certain none of the dissenters were in their little band of friends.

“James, come here for a moment, will you?” Natasha beckoned and Bucky raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes at his friends as if to jokingly signify he was possibly in trouble with the captain. Some smiled, but none of them looked particularly concerned for him so Bucky got up from the stool where he was perched and followed Natasha back into her cabin.

Matt and Claire sat waiting at a small table with drinks and plates that looked as if everyone had just recently been served today’s salmagundi, but they stood back up from their meals when he entered.

What little Bucky had seen of Natasha’s quartermaster, Matt, had been in passing as they never were awake the same shifts, but this day, Matt stood and nodded to Bucky as he stepped over the coaming and into the room.

“Good evening,” Bucky greeted them. He nodded his head to Claire. He would have nodded to Matt, but the quartermaster was blind and Bucky wasn’t sure if nodding to a blind man was wholly necessary. What did he care of social pleasantries he’d never seen?

Bucky looked Matt over a moment. He was clearly summoned here to speak with the man and he wished he’d gotten a better read on him when they’d briefly seen one another the few times before. Quartermasters could be trickier to navigate than entire oceans sometimes.

When it came to quartermasters, they were very much like captains in that they had a lot of authority on a ship, and also in that they had the immense ability to wield that authority for or against anyone on a whim. Besides being treasurers aboard most ships, they were also the enforcers of any rules, and executor of most punishments if those rules were broken.

Years ago,- maybe ten or twelve- Bucky had spent some time on a ship known as _The Algerian Frag_ and had been purchased by the ship’s quartermaster to serve the crew. That was often code for serving the every need of the captain, the quartermaster, and whomever they saw fit. That wasn’t new; Bucky had been sold to a handful of other crews by that point, and knew the drill. It was common knowledge that slaves got the ugly jobs- cleaning up the mess hall, mucking the chicken and goat stalls, and scrubbing down the upper deck where the crew went to relieve themselves, but those tasks became familiar and predictable. _The Algerian Frag_ had been different. Captain Jack Rollins and his quartermaster, a man named Rumlow, but endearingly called Crossbones by anyone affiliated with Johann Schmidt, had treated him at best as a pin cushion and at worst- well, he was someone they enjoyed making flinch.

Their idea of entertainment was often to put Bucky in the middle of a group of men and play music. Then they would blindfold themselves and whichever crewmates they had chosen to join them, take their swords out, and each take turns trying to jab their pointed weapons at Bucky as he “danced” to avoid being injured. To this day, Bucky credited the incredible coordination he learned playing this “game” with why he had never being injured in a fight in the last decade. In fact, despite how much they loved sadistic entertainment, he was only seriously wounded by them once- during a game of knife throwing in which Bucky had been tied to the mast and Captain Rollins and Crossbones had taken turns throwing knives until one of them hit him. Bucky had never been so grateful for a rocking ship and drunken aim before that day. But then Crossbones had hit his calf and blood had started to spurt onto the decks the moment the knife was removed, making them retire from their game to have celebratory drinks instead.

Bucky had never been more grateful to be sold than he was when Captain Vasily Karpov purchased him from _The Algerian Frag_ in a port a few days later. Karpov had insisted Bucky was “valuable” and had even warned his crew that, “If I find out one of you is mistreating my pet, it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. I’ll let James cast you overboard himself.” 

 

Karpov had his quartermaster, Aleksandr Lukin, treat Bucky as an equal to Lukin himself. The quartermaster had to allow Bucky one of the highest shares of any spoils and had to treat Bucky to the best dinner portions, medicines, clothing fabric, and rum. All Bucky was asked to do in return was to protect Karpov. So he had done just that- fought every duel (gun and sword), tussle, and knife fight Karpov had gotten into. Karpov treated him well and in turn, he put his life on the line to protect his captain. It only seemed fair for someone who treated him so lavishly.

And now standing in front of Matt, Bucky wasn’t sure what kind of quartermaster he may be.

“You have a reputation that precedes you, Bucky,” Matt began.

Bucky knew he’d worked for Karpov long enough to be called his pet, his fist, his _soldier_. He’d killed enough men for others to be aware that a fight against him would probably be their last.

“Sir,” was all Bucky replied and casted his eyes downward.

“The man in the brig- the one who was brought aboard this ship alongside you- his name is Scott and he is recovering well.”

Matt turned his head toward Claire. Bucky hadn’t seen a lot of Claire either. As far as he could tell, she did what Stephen Strange did except that Dr. Strange saw to him every day and Claire saw to the other prisoner.

“I don’t regret what I did to him,” Bucky clarified. “I would do it again.”

“He says you beat him into that condition.” Claire’s voice was stern.

“He was stealing from Captain Karpov!” Bucky argued.

Natasha nodded as if she were understanding. “So you did it under orders.”

“No,” Bucky snapped. “I did it myself. He got lucky.”

“Lucky?” Claire snapped. “You broke Scott’s ribs, gave him a concussion, and there is something possibly irreversibly damaged in his knee.”

“He’s a thief,” Bucky explained. “And he sneaks on board ships to loot them. Do you know the consequences for that by most navy captains?”

Bucky eyed the plates the two had temporarily abandoned. He wanted to snatch an egg for himself, but thought better of it. Matt may not see him, but Claire sounded angry enough that she would stab his only good hand.

“Imprisonment?” Matt wagered. “That’s the law.”

“Navy captains make their own laws,” Bucky reminded. “Once out at sea there is no one to enforce a distant government’s law. So captains make their own. And I’ve seen some horribly cruel navy captains. I’ve spent decades now aboard some of the finests and some of the roughest pirate ships in these seas and I know that more often than not, _The Hydra _and their associates- _The Siberia_ , _The Presence_ , _The Algerian Frag_ , _The Lumerian Star_ , _The Viper_ , _La Savante Lapin_ , _Mother Superior_ , _Bravo_ , _The Elsbeth_ , and so and so on, they all get their best recruits from royal navy ships. Sailors are treated so horribly by navies that piracy suddenly becomes very appealing. And if that’s how the sailors feel, imagine what has been done to them to make them feel that way. And then imagine how much worse would be done to someone caught stealing from them.”__

__Now it was Bucky’s turn to be angry. The level of respect he had for navy captains was next to none._ _

__“And if that’s how the royal navy treats someone they find stealing, imagine how much worse those pirates who kill and torture for fun would do if they found a thief. They give no quarter. So I found him on our ship, stowed away because he didn’t escape in time before the rig left port, and I broke him so badly that Captain Karpov would be pacified enough to not kill him. I saved his life. He should damn well thank me. And he should find a career that doesn’t involve finding himself in Davy Jones Locker.”_ _

__Bucky eyed their plates again. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry until he smelled their meals._ _

__“When did you change your policy for how to treat thieving stowaways?” Natasha asked, affectively drawing Bucky’s attention back._ _

__“You were a young girl who was hungry and stealing from the common stores. He was a grown man caught stealing from the captain’s own purse. The rules are different.”_ _

__Natasha sighed._ _

__“I want to bring him above decks,” Claire said. “He’s doing much better.”_ _

__Bucky made an expression that showed he was clearly unpleased._ _

__“He’s unskilled,” he argued._ _

__“He’s in no shape to work anyway,” Matt reminded._ _

__Bucky sighed, not even bothering to hide how annoyed he was. Part of Natasha wanted to tell him to stop being an insolent child, but a deeper part of her was actually happy to see him feel free enough to express his malcontent so outright._ _

__“Bring him above,” Natasha ordered Matt and Claire. “After you eat.”_ _

__“Aye,” Matt nodded and sat back down. “Could we send for another plate for Bucky before he starts stealing from mine?” he asked and Bucky had no idea how a blind man knew he had been eyeing his plate the whole time, but Matt just looked a little smug and took a bite out of some grilled fish._ _

__=*=*=_ _

__Steve was drinking the cheap stuff now. He’d run out of his favourite rum- something he usually only drank for special occasions and had therefore only brought a few bottles of. He’d started in on the mediocre brandy and now was drinking right on through down to the keg brew the crew usually had with their meals. It only tasted marginally better than the soured water they drank alcohol to avoid._ _

__No one except Sam and Dr. Banner had seen the captain in days since he’d disappeared back into his quarters after ordering Rick and Jessica to be held in confinement._ _

__Sam sat down and beside the swaying Captain and took the bottle out of his hand, corking it, and replacing it with a mug of weak grog._ _

__In Steve’s other hand was the knife Steve had shown him before- the one with Bucky’s name carved into it that Steve usually kept wrapped up and hidden away._ _

__He waited for Steve to say something and then thought better of it when he realized the man had done nothing but stew in his own misery for three days._ _

__“You’re better than this, Steve.”_ _

__“If they’d just imprisoned Bucky- just imprisoned any of them- Bucky, Michael, Arnie- we may have been able to get them back,” Steve said more to the shelf beside him than to Sam. He had the knife held out to spin on it’s tip on the shelf. Sam took note of the small indention in the shelf where Steve had apparently been spinning the knife gently in his hands for some time and letting it slowly carve into the wood there._ _

__“You can’t let yourself think like that, Captain,” Sam admonished. “That was a different time, different ship, different captain.”_ _

__Steve was silent a moment before, “I’m acting like my father, Sam. I swore I’d never do that.”_ _

__“You never talk about him.”_ _

__“There is a reason for that. Lieutenant Joseph Rogers left Cork to fight against the Williamites and then the Dutch when he was sixteen or seventeen and my mother knew him as a childhood friend then, knew her parents fancied him a smart match for her. She claimed before I was around, he was the most charming man. But wars change people and my father lost his two brothers and his own father fighting for James to have power. When their efforts were fruitless, their lives lost in vain, and the Jacobites were defeated, most of the Catholic army was exiled and given the opportunity to go to France or Spain and support those monarchs instead. By the time my father returned home to Cork, he was a shadow of the man my mother had known._ _

__My mother, a strawberry-blonde, gentle and strong woman of no status, but with the mind of a steadfast ruler hoped convincing him to leave Ireland and move to the colonies would be good for him. She dissuaded him from moving to France and instead, they got married and sailed to New York. He supposedly had a sense of adventure before I came along and I suppose she was trying to reawaken it. But they moved in next door to a family of Dutch immigrants and soon found that even their accents reminded him of the war. They were elderly and had lived there for two decades, had nothing to do with the war back in Europe._ _

__Soon thereafter, the man fell ill and my mother began to care for him. She was a nurse and so they were grateful. In return, the lady began helping around our home -making dinner for my parents because my mother had been too busy that day and other such small kindnesses. So my father started staying away from home more and more just so he didn’t have to hear them even speak. He went out to taverns in town. Came home drunk more and more often. And Mr. Hubbard next door eventually passed away after a few seasons. Then his daughter and her husband moved back home there so the elderly lady there wouldn’t have to live alone and they brought with them their brand new son._ _

__My mother thought that maybe having a baby would give my father something new to focus on, a new purpose, so along came my sickly, angry, crying existence. And my father was good for a little while. I think he tried, but-”_ _

__Sam nodded like he understood the rest of the story._ _

__“So you take after your mother- caring, stubborn, and steadfast, but you are acting like your father currently. And you’ve always been angry and crying.”_ _

__Steve laughed a little and took another drink of the grog before setting it down._ _

__“The Barneses were the family who moved in with Mrs. Hubbard next door. Bucky and I grew up together. We used to get into fights together- two against practically anyone- so that I would always have someone there to pick me back up from the muck when I inevitably got knocked off my feet by the first punch or kick.”_ _

__Sam laughed now, “Your mothers must have adored seeing you two come home.”_ _

__“My ma’am could grab me by the ear the second I set foot on our front stoop and then loudly pray in both English and Gaelic for my eternal soul as she dragged me inside and gave me a good earful. I would never even have time to explain myself.”_ _

__Sam nodded. “My father was a minister. I know a thing or two about that.”_ _

__“I don’t want to be my father. I came out here to avenge Bucky, of course, but I was also telling myself I could be stronger than he was. Telling myself that I could endure this life and not let it change me or break me.”_ _

__He looked off at the wooden floorboards in the distance until am said,_ _

__“Well, no one can decide that except you, Steve.”_ _

__“I’ll do better,” the captain replied with a nod. “I promise.”_ _

__

__=*=*=_ _

__Bucky had made himself scarce the night before. He’d come above decks once to help Foggy set their course and then disappeared back inside with a book he’d been loaned by the doctor. The whole thing from cover to cover talked about nothing but healing techniques and learning to control one’s own physical and mental wellness by drawing from light and dark energies around him. The few images it did have were bizarre maps and drawings of eyes and crystals. From what Bucky could tell, it was a lot of absolute insanity, but he was very intrigued by the two full page illustrations that seemed to show off multiple stars and planets._ _

__Bucky had a few stars tattooed on him, including the large, red nautical star on his shoulder that he’d gotten there not long after he’d started sailing. He used to think he should get more tattoos, but in the last few years, he hadn’t met anyone who could wield the needle and ink well enough to draw something much better than a stick figure or crude shapes and so he’d stopped thinking about getting any new ones (except for the random tallies and dates Karpov would have placed on him after various victories). The ones he’d chosen for himself were important to him. The turtle on his shoulder blade had been drawn with such skill that he’d be upset if anyone marred his skin with anything less than the talent of the Tortugan whore who had done that one._ _

__He’d gotten the tattoo from her by offering her the money Captain Karpov had given him to hire her for her other services. He’d won his fifth straight fight for the man and the captain had decided to reward him with a few gold coins and suggested that he use them to “delight in the women of the island.”_ _

__But Bucky had followed her back to the sparse little room she kept for use with clients and saw her sketches in an open diary and decided he had other ideas. To be honest, he’d not slept with a woman in years and even then, his experience was very limited so it could have been that he just got cold feet about the whole situation, but the woman didn’t judge him for it. Instead, she just said, “You paid for your time so I can either use it to color your skin or you can decide to pound into my honeybox, but you didn’t pay enough to do both, Sailor.”_ _

__She had cupped at his crotch and Bucky had kind of laughed uneasily and just replied, “Can you draw sea turtles?”_ _

__In retrospect, he had probably made the best decision of the evening. Despite him being aroused most of the time that she worked, she never took her clothes off and it was probably for the best considering most of the other pirates who found whores for themselves that evening came back with a nasty itch that took weeks and week of medication to clear up._ _

__And when Karpov saw what Bucky had spent the money on, he’d laughed so hard that he’d paid a young woman from his favourite brothel far more money than was necessary to, “bagpipe this idiot _wandought_ and show him what’s supposed to go on around here.”_ _

__He’d always felt a bit smug as he’d gotten the tattoo and had gotten off both on Karpov’s dime and while most of the other men had gotten drunk or syphilis or both, he’d managed to get neither and boarded the ship again as the most prize-winning, grinning fool the vessel had probably ever housed._ _

__Bucky looked at his tattoos carefully in Natasha’s mirror as he got dressed that next morning and then picked up Dr. Strange’s unusual book to return to him. He forwent his boots and stepped out with bare feet. As long as the weather was warm and the decks were clean, Bucky felt comfortable enough here to go without boots._ _

__He didn’t notice him at first. Perhaps because Bucky still wasn’t incredibly familiar with Natasha’s crew, but perhaps because he just wasn’t looking, the man escaped his attention for the first few minutes of the morning. Then a cursory glance around the decks spotted something unusual and he focused on the man._ _

__The man, the prisoner Bucky had beaten within an inch of his life just a month ago, was standing across the deck and staring back at Bucky. His eyes were round and his face was pale. He looked like he was going to be sick and Bucky had a feeling none of it had to do with the rocking of the ship._ _

__He had no idea why he found himself striding up to the man who seemed frozen in place, but he did. When he got there, he had half a mind to swipe Scott’s feet out from under him just to show how annoyed he was that Scott was even there, but then he remembered what Claire had said about the knee injury and thought better of it._ _

__“So you like to steal, hmm?” he asked instead._ _

__Scott took a moment to find his words and even when he did, he stuttered._ _

__“I-I-I am so, so sorry, Sir.”_ _

__Bucky laughed. It had been nice when Frank had called him “Sir,” but it was just funny when Scott did it. Frank had done it without thinking. Scott had done it out of fear._ _

__“Well, I’m sure you are now.” Bucky looked him up and down almost smugly, but noticed that Scott was looking at Bucky’s slinged arm with a furrowed brow._ _

__“Yeah, yeah, you’re safe for now,” Bucky assured. “Besides, if you did anything against this captain, I believe she would handle you herself. The month before we joined the crew, she keelhauled one of her long time associates. That’s not rumour; that’s fact."_ _

__“Bucky,” Misty called out. “Stop scaring the new recruits.”_ _

__“C’mon,” Bucky laughed. “Is that not true?”_ _

__Misty shook her head and went back to tending to the ratlines._ _

__“Fact or fiction, Misty?” he called again._ _

__“Fact, but it’s also a fact that you’re an ass.”_ _

__Bucky did allow himself to look like the pompous ass he was feeling like for just a moment._ _

__“Just watch yourself, yeah?” Bucky added, patting Scott’s shoulder in a way that seemed to say if he caught Scott out of line, he’d have worse coming for him this time. It was strange how Bucky had managed to convey that with a small pat and no words, but when he turned and walked away, Scott had no doubt what the message had been._ _

__*=*=*_ _

__It was well past sundown when Steve finally collected himself and had sobered up enough to make his way out of the cabin. The decks were sparse, but then again, they always seemed that way these days with the crew split between two ships and not having had too many to divvy up in the first place. The captain grabbed a lantern and glanced around before lifting the hatch and slowly making his way down into the hold._ _

__This part of the ship was sectioned off from the rest- away from the stores and the galley and the sleeping quarters. Unlike many ships, the hold didn’t have a solid wooden hatch door, but instead had a half-wood and half-opened hatch. There were metal bars on the opened part, too close together to fit a hand through, but enough to let the hold air out and keep the area from smelling too much like the unwashed bodies of those within or making the air too stale. It also allowed the wind to send in a brisk breeze as they sailed speedily onward._ _

__Steve made it to the bottom of the ladder and stepped off the final step and onto the wooden planks there covered with hay. The goats and chickens also kept onboard were at the other end of the darkened room and provided the other unpleasant smells the hold had to offer. A few of the chickens startled as Steve’s boots thunked against the floor and it caused the boy in the cell to stir._ _

__Steve held the lantern out to get the best look he could at the boy and then noticed the cell beside that. Jessica wasn’t sleeping. She was lying down in the prickly hay, back pressed to the side of the cell, and watching Steve._ _

__Steve frowned a little and stepped closer, raising the lantern nearer to her to get a better look and sure enough, his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Curled up against the outside of the cell, and reaching through the bars to hold Jessica’s hand was his helmsman._ _

__Steve hung the lantern on a nail jutting out from the support beam beside him and immediately began to fish through his ring of keys until he found the one that opened her door. Pushing it open was a little harder than he had expected, but it pushed open with a low groan and then he was stepping aside and nodded his head for Jessica to get out._ _

__He never opened his mouth, didn’t know what to say to her, and knew he couldn’t verbalize his apology yet, but she seemed to be fine with that. She shoved at Carol’s shoulder gently until the helmsman stirred and then she just whispered low and hurried to Carol before they both stood up and made their way to the ladder._ _

__Carol turned back to thank Steve, but saw him already looking back at the sleeping boy in the cell and instead, she just placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly for a moment -both a thank you and a reassurance._ _

__Steve turned back in time to lift his hand, to help Carol and Jessica up the ladder in the dim lighting. Carol already was far enough up and had one hand on the door, but Jessica took his assistance and their hands meeting felt like a shock to both of their systems. Jessica’s hand was freezing in Steve’s warm palm before Carol climbed out of the hold and then reached back down to help the other woman up from the steps._ _

__The hatch door fell back down with a loud clatter as soon as the women were gone. There was a gasp of breath and then suddenly Rick was sitting up and pressing himself back against the far side of the ship, putting as much distance between himself and the captain as possible._ _

__Steve looked anguished, but he didn’t unlock the door. He thought unlocking it now may send the boy into a further panic and that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He never wanted to see terror or panic on a face that looked so much like Bucky’s, and he certainly never wanted to be the cause of it._ _

__“Rick,” Steve started and raised his hand to rest on the bars of the cell. “May I call you Rick?”_ _

__The boy nodded frantically, scared to object to anything Steve might want._ _

__“Rick, the way I behaved the other day,” Steve began, stepping closer to the cell and then looking at the ground. The hay looked dry enough so he sat down to make himself less intimidating. “The way I behaved was not your fault.”_ _

__He paused long enough to collect his thoughts. That first line had really been all he’d planned before coming down here besides one other thing._ _

__“I’m sorry.”_ _

__Rick didn’t seem to be fully following and Steve felt like he was staring back at Bucky’s fearful face._ _

__“Did Sam tell you why you’re down here?” Steve asked. He knew Sam had visited the boy a few times- had probably tried to make excuses for the captain even._ _

__“I look like your friend,” he answered and Steve hadn’t remembered that his voice was that young. Rick sounded impossibly young and fragile in his vulnerability._ _

__“You could be him, Rick,” Steve said with a nod. He reached into his dress jacket and pulled out the same notebook he had previously shown Sam and unwound the leather until the images were free again._ _

__He was scared to let Rick anywhere near them, honestly. He’d never allowed a stranger to see them after they’d found Bucky’s arm in that dragnet. After the proof that Bucky was gone, Steve had tucked them away and shown them exactly twice to another person- once to Commodore Margaret Carter when he expressed why he needed this mission more than anyone else, and once just a few days ago to his quartermaster. Both of those he had trusted with his life._ _

__Rick inched closer though, trying to see what Steve had in his hands._ _

__“This is him,” Steve said at once and handed one picture out through the bars so Rick could see it. It was the one where Bucky was staring straight ahead._ _

__Even Rick’s eyes widened when he saw the image._ _

__“He looks just like me,” Rick whispered. He looked up at Steve with a confused face. “And _The Hydra_ killed him?”_ _

__“If this were still twenty years ago, I’d swear that they hadn’t killed him at all and that you were him simply with another’s memories.”_ _

__“I’m sorry that I remind you of him.” Rick was inching even closer now, close enough that Steve could reach out and touch him and so he very gently did just that. He reached his hand over and put it on Rick’s shoulder._ _

__“Oh no, don’t you ever apologize for that,” Steve said and tears were suddenly back in his eyes. “It’s mainly for that reason that I’m going to make sure you are the safest you can possibly be. You are going to make it home again, Rick Jones. You are going back to New York and back to your family who is probably sick with worry over you. And I am going to see to it that you are well and fit when you do so. From now on, I protect you at all costs. This is a promise I make to you. Regardless of whether or not you can forgive what I’ve done, I’ll protect you and I’ll get you home safely.”_ _

__“Why the change of heart?” Rick asked hesitantly._ _

__“Because,” Steve said as Rick passed back the image unharmed and let Steve tuck it away again safely. “It’s what I wish someone had done with Bucky. I came out here to avenge my friend. I came out here to make the sea a better and safer place and I wasn't doing that for you. And I’m sorry. I’d like to start new now if you’d allow that.”_ _

__“Do I get free of this cell?” Rick asked and Steve smiled._ _

__“Right this minute,” he assured and stood up to find the key._ _


	7. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not a real list,” Bucky confessed instantly. “It’s not on paper or anything. I just- it’s just thoughts. It’s nothing.” Somehow reassuring her he hadn’t stolen any paper had been the first thing he’d come up with try to mollify her.
> 
> “It’s a list of things he wants to do before he dies,” Scott answered instead. “He was afraid of not getting to do everything he wanted.”

“If we’re going to fight,” Matt spoke as some of the crew sat around the deck the one evening relaxing. He fingered the knight in his hand to make sure he was moving the right chess piece and began to measure space with his fingers. “Do you think we should perhaps teach some of the others how?”

“Pssh,” Jessica laughed. “I can fight you now, Murdock.”

“We’re going to fight?” asked Scott.

“You’re going in first,” Bucky quipped and Scott’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “So you won’t be fighting long anyway.”

Scott looked like he was going to pass out as Bucky started to smile a leering smile his way.  
He watched Matt scoop his rook off the board, but couldn’t be too bothered by it as he reached for his own knight and then contemplated a moment and moved his hand to the bishop. He slid it diagonally, waving Matt’s pawn aside and then looking over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Hope?” he called out.

“Aye?” 

A dark haired girl Bucky had really only spoke with in passing stepped up to the table after tying off a patched sail.

“Captain says you know how to fight.”

“Aye, but I don’t hit invalids.” She made an exaggerated sympathetic face and patted the arm in the sling.

“Would you hit Scottie here?” he asked, motioning with the prosthetic to Scott. Scott’s head darted back and forth between Bucky and Hope as he sputtered. 

“N-n-n-n-no-no. No. I’m not going to fight a lady.”

“Well, it probably won’t be a fair fight,” Hope allowed, “But I’ll go easy on you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky piped, “The lady is nice. She’ll go easy on you. It’s Schmidt who doesn’t go easy on anyone.” He held up his prosthetic hand as if to make a point and watched Scott gulp.

Hope rolled her eyes and then pulled Scott along to a cleared off part of the deck. The best thing about having minimal crewmembers was ample deck space. The worst part, of course, was more than ample work, but at least it seemed everyone was doing their part when it was their shifts so the ship was still managing to make it along in the best condition possible.

“Who else can fight?” Bucky asked, turning back to his friends. “Besides Ms. Jones who wants to do nothing but fight?”

Jessica gave a self-satisfied look to Bucky and he returned it with all the same smugness.

“You want us all to train, don’t you?” Colleen asked and Misty turned to question Bucky as well.

“We’re going to fight a madman. He’s evil in the purest form I’ve ever seen and he kills for fun. Matt’s right about this. Everyone needs to know how to fight. I want every single person on the ship to be able to defend themselves.”

“I can teach,” Colleen said matter-of-factly and got up immediately and disappeared into the hold without another word.

“Who else?” Bucky asked and watched as a few other hands went up.

“You’re not going to teach?” a voice called smugly and Bucky turned to see Clint. “I have it on good authority that you’re the best teacher on this ocean.”

“Fighter, Clint. I’m the best at fighting. Teaching isn’t my strong suit.”

Clint kind of shrugged and walked up leisurely. He looked around the crew members standing about or working nearby.

“Anyone here think they can take on the captain?” he called. 

No one replied so he repeated himself a little louder.

“Hey, I said does anyone here want to fight the captain?!”

“Just a faux fight. She wouldn’t injure you!” Bucky laughed.

Still, no one replied and everyone was suddenly doing their best to look busy or preoccupied.

Bucky shook his head. “I’d fight her, but-” he nodded toward the slinged arm.

“The point remains, Barnes-” Clint clarified. “You’re the best teacher. And no one even wants to fight your students.”

It was then that Bucky noticed Natasha was watching from the door of the captain’s quarters and she motioned Clint back inside with a laugh of something shared between them.

Bucky didn’t smile so smugly at that, but it did warm something in his chest a bit.

*=*=*

Rick had a full steaming plate of salmagundi in his hand when he entered the captain’s quarters. Today’s had shrimp and Steve was surprised they’d been that fortunate.

“I’ve never had a cabin boy,” Steve clarified, “So I’m sure I’ll miss this again when you’re back at home, but for now, I’m enjoying this,” he told the boy as Rick set the full plate down in front of him.

Rick smiled, pleased with himself, and then Steve stood up from his place at the table.

“Now you come sit here and eat this while I get my own supper. I’m not going to make you wait on me. I said I would protect _you_.”

Rick looked overwhelmed a bit and not for the first time if Sam’s face was anything to go by, but Sam just ducked his face down toward his own plate and started eating.

Rick opened his mouth to argue with Steve’s choice and then Sam shook his head a bit to tell the boy to keep his arguments to himself.

Steve left the cabin without another word and Rick and Sam just looked at one another.

“Got you sleeping in the plush quarters and eating at his table.” Sam was smiling.

“He’s treating me like _I’m_ the captain,” Rick said uneasily and Sam shook his head.

“Just accept it, boy. He wants to see you happy. That’s the captain the people on this boat swore to serve. That’s the captain that inspires us and that we’re willing to lay down our lives for. Steve Rogers is a good man when he’s not blinded by his love for Bucky Barnes or his hatred for the pirates who took him away.”

“He must _really_ hate pirates if he’s going all this way to kill them.” 

“He’s been working his way up in ranks for years to get this commission and once he received it, it still took him over a year to track down Schmidt.”

“And you know where you’re going this time?”

“We’ve been taking down _The Hydra_ ’s affiliations for the last year and there’s more and more information we’ve gathered from their log books. There’s a rendezvous point- an inlet on an island in the sea above the Wakandan territory. No doubt the Wakandans know, but you can never be sure what they will and will not intervene in. But Steve knows. And he knows it’s for some kind of big sacrifice or something _‘for the good of the superior race.’_ That’s a direct quote from Baron Zemo’s log. Many of the captains we’ve taken down in the last year- Baron Heinrich Zemo, his son, the uh, other Baron Zemo, Helmut. Alexander Pierce who ever so kindly took care of Vasily Karpov for us, Baron Von Strucker, and now Madame Sarkissian,” Sam shrugged, “Their logs have all had similar notations- there’s a rendezvous point and they’re heading there, each with a gift for Schmidt.” 

“And the gifts are all live people?” Somehow Rick said this with only a minimal amount of nausea showing on his young face.

Sam grimaced and set down the potato in his hand. “How’d you ever know?”

“I overheard, or maybe I was supposed to hear- I don’t know- that they were each taking a prisoner to Schmidt for him to ‘enjoy.’ I thought they meant in a more, uh, indecent kind of arrangement, but they meant something even more sinister.”

“From best I can tell,” Sam said between bites, “Schmidt doesn’t have a part of himself that desires anything other than warfare and bloodlust.”

“He has a daughter,” Rick offered. “Jessica mentioned her as someone who doesn’t just like to kill, but likes to play with her victims first. I would say I lost sleep over that, but I couldn’t possibly lose more than I already was being held hostage by pirates who intended to kill me.”

“I think you need to stop listening to both your captors and Jessica Drew.”

Rick shrugged. “I’m not as young as everyone thinks I am.”

“No,” Sam corrected. “You’re not as old as life is forcing you to be.”

*=*=*

“I can’t teach you to use your hands,” Bucky explained to Foggy as they peered out at the horizon the next dawn. “But a sextant is easy.”

“For you, perhaps,” Foggy said miserably.

“No, for you too. Look through the mirror and sight the horizon. That’s easy, right?”

“That’s about the only part I know I’m doing right.”

“Do they call you Foggy because you have a gloomy disposition?” Bucky asked. “Where is your self-confidence?”

“It drowned with my ability to read a sextant.”

“Well, we’re still mostly on track each day so I think you need to have a bit more faith in your skillset. Now turn the dial until the moon rests on the horizon and lock the position.”

Bucky immediately recognized that Foggy’s problem wasn’t reading the sextant at all. 

“You can’t make it rest on the horizon while the ship is bobbing in the waves.” 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Foggy replied miserably, dropping the instrument back down to his side.

“I’m not. I’m not. I never would.” Bucky assured. He pulled his hand from the sling and carefully pulled Foggy into a one-armed hug before turning him back loose to stare out at the water. “I have so much faith in your ability to do this that I can make up for the faith you lack. You just have to learn how to properly estimate how far the ship is jumping so that you can calculate it into the overall configuration when you’re setting the course. If you allow a small margin or error, and then know approximately how much to compensate for-”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” Foggy said with a nod. “So how do I learn that?”

“Educated guesses and a lot of practice,” Bucky smiled. “Put the sextant back up to your eye. C’mon.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Foggy mumbled and Bucky barely heard him over the wind of the ship.

“Because it’s better to be nice?” Bucky asked perplexed. “Do you think I shouldn’t be nice because I’m a pirate or just because I was part of some _Hydra_ \- associated crews?”

“No,” Foggy said with a shake of his head. “Just because you’re so mean to Scott.”

“I can be mean to you too if you’d prefer.”

Foggy dropped the sextant down again and fixed Bucky with a look.

“That’s not what I meant,” and Bucky just grinned and fit his arm back in his sling.

*=*=*

“When we reach the mouth of the Wakandan sea,” Steve directed, “we’ll signal the crew of _The Siberia_ again. We can’t take this vessel into that area without being spotted.”

Sam nodded and marked a note about the Mediterranean into the his journal. It was commonly called the Wakandan Sea, but that wasn’t a name on any map and the sea certainly didn’t belong to the Wakandans. There was simply a belief that if you came across a ship while in the sea, you had better pray it belonged to the Wakandans or you weren’t going to live to see another ship. No other vessels generally traversed the sea without being associated with Schmidt or without being escorted by the Wakandans themselves. Piracy was at its worst there. And Wakanda was the only nation seemingly immune to their attacks.

“It would greatly benefit us to have T’Challa with us in this battle,” Steve mentioned, speaking of the new Wakandan king and their former companion.

“Which do you think is more of a burden?” Sam asked, “Ruling Wakanda or putting up with your emotional ass on board a ship he can’t escape?”

“I’m quite sure putting up with one emotionally charged captain is less exhausting than answering the demands of an entire nation,” Steve answered, but Sam didn’t exactly look convinced.

“It’s very obvious to me that you don’t have to deal with yourself the way I have to deal with you.”

“As long as you don’t ever grab me by my ear and yell at me in both English and Gaelic…”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sam threatened, making a motion as if he were going to grab at Steve, but then he turned and winked and walked out of the cabin.

“Is Sam your best friend now?” Rick asked, startling Steve.

Steve kind of weighed the question a moment.

“Yeah, I guess he is. He gives me a hard time, but that’s how you know someone likes you, you know? No one speaks to you in jest when they dislike you. They simply ignore you. So a taunting line or two from Sam is a good feeling most days.”

Rick hesitated and then pressed on, “Are you and Sam more than friends?” His eyebrows raised as he asked the question and Steve had to laugh.

“No, Sam would make someone very happy, I’m sure. Incredibly happy. But Sam and I are friends.”

“That’s too bad,” Rick ventured to say with a shrug. “Sam would be a great match.”

Steve laughed and reached to push playfully at Rick’s shoulder. “Lad, you are fourteen. Stop playing matchmaker!”

“Hey!” Rick yelped, shoving back and joining in on the laughter, “Fourteen is old enough to know what love is like!”

Steve was smiling all the way up to his eyes which was maybe why Rick wasn’t expecting the sudden reminiscent tone Steve’s voice took on when he replied,

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right about that.”

*=*=*

“You’re not moving your feet enough. You’re going to be gutted if you do that during a fight,” Bucky said to Claire as he inspected the various crew members learning to fight.

“ _I’m_ going to gut _you_ ,” Claire snapped with a quick whip of her sword up to Bucky’s chest.

“Easy there. It’s a blunt sword and I have plans before I die.”

“He really does,” Scott spoke up. “He has a list.”

Bucky whipped around so fast it was as if someone had just smacked him that direction.

“How do you-” he started, but then paused. “I thought you were going to die.”

He looked at the deck of the ship and worked his jaw a moment, trying to decide what to do from there.

“But I didn’t and now you’ve already told me about your list.”

That hadn’t been something Bucky had planned on having to deal with any time soon- if ever. The list was personal. He’d only spoken about it to Scott because he’d been sure Scott was going to take those secrets to the grave. Then Natasha had come along and then Claire and now here Scott was nowhere near dead and prattling on to everyone around that Bucky had a list.

“James?” Natasha reached out. When her hand touched his shoulder, he flinched, and it was only then that he realized he practically had teeth bared at the wooden planks he was staring down. 

“It’s not a- I don’t have a list.”

“Suit yourself, man,” Scott said with a shrug. “But I believe what you actually said was, ‘You better live.’ You wanted me for leverage if they took us to trial.”

“That was after the list thing. I had already told you the things on it at that point.”

“What kind of list, James?”

“It’s- It’s not-” he stopped and clicked his teeth shut as he closed his mouth. He had been seconds away from telling Natasha the list was personal. But he wasn’t sure of the rules anymore. He wasn’t sure how free he really was. Had Karpov had asked him about the list, he would have hung his head, and admitted to it immediately, and then accepted the humiliation of the crew sent his way as they started laughing and mocking each thing he admitted to. 

But Bucky was starting to consider these people his friends. The last thing he wanted was to hear them mock and taunt him for having one little thing he kept to himself. He noted with a growing sense of misery that it seemed everyone had paused in their training to watch this situation unfold.

“It’s not a real list,” Bucky confessed instantly. “It’s not on paper or anything. I just- it’s just thoughts. It’s nothing.” Somehow reassuring her he hadn’t stolen any paper had been the first thing he’d come up with try to mollify her.

“It’s a list of things he wants to do before he dies,” Scott answered instead. “He was afraid of not getting to do everything he wanted.”

Bucky practically hissed.

“I fight other men’s battles, you imbecile! I’m allowed to want things sometimes if I just keep them to myself!”

He actually went to hit Scott, but remembered the sling at the last second and thought better of it.

“James.” Natasha said again and this time it was more like a warning. 

But oddly, Scott didn’t look scared of Bucky for the first time. He dropped his sword down to his side as he stepped closer to him.

“You didn’t tell me because you thought I was going to die, did you?”

Bucky worked his jaw and very pointedly did not look up at Scott, but Scott was undeterred now. He stepped closer so he could lower his voice and it could still be heard above the sound of the wind rushing around them.

“Did you think you were going to die in that brig too?”

For the longest time, there was no answer. Time seemed to stretch on as Bucky stared at the planks at their feet.

 

The finally, “I just wanna go home,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all that matters on my list.”

Natasha was suddenly leaning against his back and wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“James, darling, I will still take you home.”

Bucky listened to everyone around him, but as hard as he tried, he didn’t hear anyone laughing. Of everyone whose swords were paused mid-air to listen to his secrets, not a one of them had laughed and said in a jeering echo, “Jamesy just wants to go home. Jamesy just wants his mother to swaddle him up and spoon feed him and hide him from the big, bad world. Waah, waaaah, wah.”

Bucky’s mother had died when he was still a child and he knew she wouldn’t be there if he ever made it back to Brooklyn, but when he talked about going home, he wasn’t even sure he meant Brooklyn. He just wanted to feel comfortable. He hadn’t felt comfortable in as long as he could remember. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like he wasn’t visiting someone else’s ship or making a guest appearance in someone else’s life.

He had to physically shiver to shake the feeling off and then he looked over his shoulder at Natasha still holding on.

“It’s okay,“ he said to the top of her head. “I don’t even know what I mean by that anymore.”

*=*=*

“We’re gonna be there in less than a week, Captain,” Pietro said as he looked over Sam’s shoulder at the map they’d brought out to show the crew. “Probably three days, three and a half.”

“And you promise this whole crew can fight?” Jessica asked skeptically looking upward at Peter hanging upside down on the graft again.

“Everyone can fight. Even the spider-monkey,” Sam assured.

“Hey, if I live through this, could I get a spider-monkey and keep it on board?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “It’ll be good for you to have family on the ship.” Peter went to defend himself when Pietro reined everyone back in.

“Should we do anything to further prepare?” he asked.

Steve looked around at his crew. _The Siberia_ had stopped as well and now Steve’s crew and the crew Tony had been commanding were all huddled onto the deck of _The Avenger_ for progress reports and preparations.

“I don’t know why each of you chose this mission,” Steve said loudly, looking around at the men and women around him. “But I know none of you were assigned to this crew and the knowledge that you decided to put your lives at risk for something that I’m sure I care more about than any of you is a sentiment and a commitment that is not lost on me. I’m very grateful for each and every one of you.”

He reached out and gripped Tony’s shoulder. 

“Even the Vision,” Steve said looking back toward Tony’s ship at the man in the crow’s nest, “Who was all too eager to stay behind and not join our meeting. And even your brother,” he said looking at Thor, “Who rarely ever comes above deck to join the rest of us.”

Thor laughed and looked at Loki who had crawled out of whatever hole he usually stayed wormed up in.

“You assigned me to Tony’s ship,” Loki argued with a flourish of his pale hand in the direction of _The Siberia_.

“Speaking of running two ships,” Steve continued, ignoring Loki’s annoyance. “Our crews have been raked incredibly thin as of late. You may have wondered why we saved _The Siberia_ instead of burning it as we do all our other conquests.”

There were a few murmurs among the crowd.

“Tonight, we enter into the mouth of the sea where I suspect we will soon encounter spies and watchmen working for Schmidt. So by daybreak, we will have hidden our vessel in an alcove at which point, we will disembark from _The Avenger_ and all board _The Siberia_ so that our approach to their rendezvous point will run as smoothly as possible. I expect hat, caps, eyepatches- anything that would make it harder to distinguish you from the crew that would generally run _The Siberia_ from the point of view of anyone watching you through a spyglass or other telescope.

“Captain,” Jessica spoke up and some of the crew from Tony’s vessel looked confused until they remembered who she was. “There’s a way for them to recognize you.”

Steve turned his attention to her.

“You have to tie someone to the mast. Just the center one at first- to prove to anyone far off that you’re bringing an offering.” she explained. “When you get ready to approach the inlet, you have to have someone tied to the figurehead.”

A hush even quieter than before seemed to fall over the crew.

Steve considered that a moment and then said more desperately. “We can’t do that. That’s not- I won’t risk anyone here to do that. There’s no way to make sure they’re secure enough not to fall. It’s cold, the water would hit painfully hard with each spray, there’s no footing. I won’t.”

“Captain,” a voice spoke up, small and at first unidentifiable. 

Then Steve turned to see Rick.

“Tie me there. It’s where I was supposed to be anyway.”

“No!” Steve practically yelled. “I am not risking anyone on this ship! You-” he said with a finger pointed directly at Rick’s chest, “You are going home safe to your family. I made a promise.”

“Captain, I’m an orphan,” Rick said with a sound of distress that almost matched Steve’s.

“I didn’t want you to have a reason not to take me home. But my parents are both dead. You asked who I was. I told you their names. You never asked if they were alive. Captain, they’re not. It’s just me. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, any aunts or uncles, or grandparents. It’s just me. Tie me to the figurehead.”

Steve was shaking his head and then another young voice spoke up.

“Alternatively,” Peter was right-side up now and jumping down from the lines. “Alternatively, Captain,” he said, displaying his hands and standing up as straight as possible. “Tie me there. I’m the one with the best skills at climbing, at holding on, at frankly, being places that others would find difficult. Tie Rick to the mast, but tie me to the bow. I’m the one best suited for it and you know it.”

Steve reached out and wrapped Peter in the tightest hug the boy could remember feeling in quite some time and then Steve turned to Tony.

“What can you rig together to make sure that we do not lose him?”

Tony nodded once and then pulled Peter along with him. “I’m on it, Cap.”

“The rest of you,” Steve instructed. “We’re hiding _The Avenger_ tonight. Get your belongings ready for a transfer over to _The Siberia_. Take your weapons, anything else you feel you must, but travel as lightly as you can manage.”

*=*=*

“You getting nervous?” Natasha asked.

“More anxious,” Bucky replied. He was standing in her cabin with the sling off his arm and his shirt off. He’d placed the prosthetic on the bed and for once, Natasha was getting an eyeful of exactly what Bucky looked like beneath layers of he built around himself.

“It’s been almost a month and half,” Natasha said noting the sling. “How much longer till you can remove it for good?”

“I just did, I hope. Strange said I could try it. To use it gently for now, but I want to try to remember how to move properly with it so I thought I would try to leave it off tonight and try to use a sword tomorrow.” It was still wrapped tightly with the wooden piece along it, but Strange had requested that he leave that on till the last possible moment.

“I’ll send for Wanda,” Natasha said with a nod and was gone. Bucky crawled up onto the bed and laid down chest down. Wanda had massaged him multiple times by now and it was as close to comfort as he could remember having felt in years. It wasn’t home, but it was something unusual -security maybe.

Whatever it was, he enjoyed it. It always relaxed him and put him to sleep and the next day, his body felt looser and younger and more energized. 

They were two days out from a battle, from Bucky joining Steve in a fight that should have been his all along. If there were ever a time Bucky figured he could use help being relaxed, now came to mind quite strongly.

*=*=*

The morning they tied Peter to the figurehead was the worst Steve could ever remember feeling as a human being.

He anguished about it until Tony sent him off. Then Tony pulled Peter to him, standing there on the bow of _The Siberia_ and not letting go for the longest time.

“I have made this as safe as I possibly can,” he spoke, stepping back and looking Peter in the eye.

Peter swallowed nervously and nodded.

“And I will stay low here, hidden in the bow as we sail. If there is anything you need, you call my name. Otherwise, I will cut you from these restraints the minute our men’s feet start to touch the ground.”

Peter nodded again. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Securing Peter to the figurehead took four men- Tony, Sam, Thor, and Rhodey all working to make sure the tightest and most secure ropes and knots where used. Tony had them anchored to a device that held the ropes tied or knotted in multiple locations so that even one rope would have to come loose in multiple places to unrival, and nothing could come loose enough to drop him into the ocean.

Peter wasn’t fully nervous until he was up there with very little to grip onto and nowhere to place his feet. Tony threaded an additional rope for Peter to hold onto. If worse came to worst, he had faith that Peter had the upper body strength to hold onto that long enough to call for help.

*=*=*

The final morning was overcast as Bucky walked along behind the others who were still practicing their new skills. He was surprised how quickly many of them had picked up on the techniques.

Natasha was currently teaching Wanda another move or two while Colleen and Misty sparred and Bucky propped back against the mast and watched the action. He twirled his own sword in his hand, telling himself the moves were for practice, but knowing it was probably more to keep from doing noticeable fidgets that would give away how eager and anxious he was to get to the battle already.

“Your friend is probably getting there about now,” Frank said, stepping up close to Bucky and offering his own sword out in case Bucky wanted to move his arm a bit more.

Bucky stepped back and ran his sword down Frank’s. 

“Don’t kill me, but make me scared,” he suggested and Frank shook his head.

“You don’t kill me first.”

“No promises, but I’ll make an effort,” Bucky said with a grin. With the sword in his hands again, he did feel a bit more like himself. Or at least like the version of himself that he’d honed to stay alive all these years- agile, quick, and dangerous.

In an hour or two, they would be to their destination.

“Not much longer,” Natasha told them looking over. “Fifteen or twenty minutes of practice and then we rest. I don’t want anyone too tired to defend themselves.” 

“Aye,” Frank and Bucky said to her in unison before Frank made to thrust his sword Bucky’s direction and Bucky caught the blade with his own.

*=*=*

The sick feeling that washed over the crew as they sailed _The Siberia_ into the inlet was palpable. Despite the summer days still fading, there was somehow a chill in the humid, thick air as they saw the other ships- empty and anchored with their jolly rogers flying threateningly. The hollow eyes and tentacled design of the flag displayed proudly above _The Hydra_ gave the dark ship away immediately, but the vessels were all empty. 

Steve slowly and methodically checked his uniform. The journal with the drawings of Bucky had stayed near to _The Avenger_ , the furthest away Steve had ever gotten from them. The knife that had been Bucky’s, however, was unwrapped and in his hand.

The crew assembled on the deck. The inlet would allow them to get close enough to land to forego the rowboats and jump straight into the water and make their way onto the beach.

“You are the bravest people I have ever had the honor to sail with,” Steve told the crew as Tony and Thor hauled Peter back over to the right side of the deck. Steve placed the knife into a sheath on his boot and stepped up to check on Peter as Dr. Banner immediately surrounded the boy with a woolen blanket.

Despite the humidity in the air, Peter’s teeth were chattering, his eyes red and bloodshot, and every inch of him was soaked.

“Bring him to shore,” Steve directed Dr. Banner quietly. “Build a fire and get him dry clothes.”

“Aye, Captain,” the doctor said with a single nod.

Steve stepped over and cut the ropes holding Rick to the mast and then he looked him over carefully until Rick assured him he was fine.

“This is the most I will ever ask of you,” Steve said, stepping up alongside his crew and looking out at the land before them. “I am already so humbled just to be among such courageous spirits. I pray for protection for each of you. They may suspect us so be ever vigilant. Do no harm to their prisoners, but as for anyone else standing with a weapon in their hand or the ability to hold one, take no quarter and do not hesitate.”

And just like that, the splashes of dozens of sailors could be heard jumping over the sides of the ship or shimmying down the loosed rigging. Some climbed down the anchor’s chain and others piled onto a rowboat to use it to glide down onto the water. Then everyone was wading and running and making their way toward their enemies.

They found them with ease as the followers of Schmidt all made their rally cries heard. The sailors followed the sound and barrelled in with guns and swords ready, spilling first blood before Schmidt’s men could draw their weapons. Steve ran first, always leading his crew into their battles. It was easy to spot Captain Johann Schmidt as he stood making his proclamations on a platform above the others.

“Schmidt!” Steve yelled, running toward him with his sword in hand. Other pirates ran his way, trying to block his access, but Steve took them all down almost with ease. He was focused on their leader. He didn’t have time for any distractions. The others that fell as he went, fell almost gracefully with the skill level Steve displayed in how calmly, deftly he hewed down each one.

“Captain Rogers,” Schmidt laughed and the sound was as cold and wicked as Steve had always suspected. “I’ve heard about you. What a fine time for you to join us.”

Schmidt made no effort to move as Steve cut down man after man to get to him. There were battles all around as his crew fought the numerous pirates and the air was filled with the sounds of swords clashing and weapons bashing against wood and metal and bones.

As Steve reached the platform, he watched the last man beside Schmidt, a short and bespectacled man, take off running in the opposite direction. 

Then Steve raised his sword and brought it down hard. It was met by the hard silver of Schmidt’s own weapon, two swords clanging together before Schmidt reached out and punched Steve in the stomach. Steve stumbled back, but then charged forward again, swinging at Schmidt with the sword.

Schmidt was stronger than Steve had anticipated, but he wasn’t discouraged. He hefted his sword up longways across Schmidt’s chest and volleyed him back a few feet.

There was a chance for Steve to pull his gun, but it seemed too impersonal. If he were going to kill this monster, he was going to get close enough to see the light go out in his eyes.

“I’ve waited to do this a long time,” said between gritted teeth as he and Schmidt met back with swords clashing. Sparks flew from the friction and it was Steve’s turn to throw a punch. “I’ve come to avenge-” He threw another and another into Schmidt’s face and finally, there was blood dripping from the man’s nose and mouth.

“I’m sure you have-” Schmidt sputtered. “Everyone I’ve killed was someone’s something or another.”

“He was my best friend.” Steve said with a kick and Schmidt’s feet went out from under him.

“So I killed your friend,” he coughed, moving to get up, but Steve dashed over to him, putting a foot on his wrist holding the sword down as his other boot came forward to kick the weapon away.

Steve reached for the knife sheathed in his boot and his hand hit upon nothing but leather. His hands scrambled around the smooth surface as if the knife would suddenly appear, but there was nothing.

Then Schmidt’s fist connected hard with the side of Steve’s knee, sending him toppling off of the vile captain and with a second knock from Schmidt, Steve was flat on his back with the man’s soulless eyes staring down at him.

“I kill lots of people, Captain Rogers,” he rasped. “It’s what I enjoy.” 

In one quick motion, he copied Steve’s earlier move, stepping onto his victim’s arm and then onto his chest to hold him down before reaching down to pick back up his sword. Steve could feel the still healing bullet wound pulling and had no doubt it was reopened, but he was too focused on Schmidt's movements and trying to get air into his lungs.

The pirate reached for his sword, but when he did, his eye caught on something shiny- a knife, almost dagger-like and he reached instead to retrieve it.

Steve saw him with Bucky’s knife in his hand and struggled against the heaviness of Schmidt’s body weighing down on him. He tried to lay his fists into Schmidt in the same motion that had offset him, but Schmidt’s weight was bearing down too hard for the punches to throw him off balance. Steve could feel his lungs trying to expand for air, but Schmidt had too much pressure on him for him to get a proper breath.

“When I kill people,” Schmidt continued, “I like to do it slowly. I like it to be personal.”

He lifted the knife up as Steve panted for breath and made sure he got a good view of Bucky’s name engraved into it before turning the blade downward and whispering,

“It’s time for you to join your friend now, Captain Rogers.”

“Not like that,” shouted a voice and then suddenly there was an arm of wood and metal locking around Schmidt’s throat and jerking him backwards. 

All at once Steve could breathe again and he gasped over and over as he watched the man- a pirate no less- wrench the knife from Schmidt’s hand and use it to slice deeply into the vile captain’s throat. 

Schmidt made a strangled sound as the blood spurted forward and then began to pour down the pirate’s arm. His body convulsed only a little before slumping at the pirate’s feet.

The man in front of Steve held up the bloody knife to get a better look at it and then kind of smiled a bit to himself.

And Steve was still gasping and his whole chest hurt, but he would recognize that smile anywhere. He’d once drawn it a hundred times and looked upon it a million more. But seeing it now felt new. Steve looked up into the other man’s eyes and it felt like he’d taken the first breath he had ever breathed, like new life had just been restored in him, like he’d been plunged deep underwater and struggling to the surface sure that he wasn’t going to make it, but then the man had reached and pulled him upward to the clear air at the top of the sea.

Desperately, Steve reached forward and was caught in Bucky’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's really just one more chapter and an epilogue.  
> If you've read this far, I really love you.


	8. True North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bucky,” Steve warned. “Put the sword down. This is foolishness.”
> 
> “Then defend yourself!” Bucky taunted, swirling the sword around without looking at Steve, but then easily brought the weapon down to clash against Steve’s the moment the captain lunged forward.

Steve was frozen in Bucky’s embrace, trying to breathe and gaping like a fish just pulled from the water. So many thoughts bombarded him at once and he tried to find which one he should voice when suddenly the ground beneath them both shook as loud blasts went off in the distance. Both men spared one second to look at each other and then frantically got to their feet and went running toward the explosions. More blasts went off before they arrived at the beach and their boots hit the sand just in time to see the _The Widowmaker_ go up in a loud burst of smoke and fire. Wooden splinters were everywhere and fire went flying through the air and landing throughout the water.

Bucky and Steve surveyed the scene and then both raced forward. Bucky ran to help Peter who was doing all that he could to fight off one of Schmidt’s men. Steve ran to help Clint whose body had been thrown by the blast and who was now flailing in the water and trying to get away from fiery pieces of debris.

Natasha was staring at her ship, half the vessel now gone as what was left took on water rapidly. The other ships had been blasted apart too and Steve had no more than dragged Clint to standing level when he remembered that he had left Rick where he expected him to be safe- in the captain’s quarters with the windows covered and the doors locked. He’d handed the boy a pistol and said, “You know how to use that?” And that had been it. Rick had been on _The Siberia_. And _The Siberia_ was now in a thousand pieces. 

Bucky cut down the man fighting Peter with a single surprise sweep and then looked around. The short, bespectacled man who had run from Schmidt’s side earlier was trying to hide himself among the treeline, but Bucky turned and made a run for him. He still had the knife from earlier in his hand and looked all too thrilled to get to use it again.

Dr. Banner, who had been there to defend Peter (if need be) as he regained his bearings, had had to jump up and start shooting when the pirates had come to destroy the ships. Peter had surprised him as he had also grabbed a sword and started dueling each attacker, but the two of them would have been quickly outnumbered if not for _The Widowmaker_ showing up at just that moment to bring them backup.

With Steve’s crew meeting Natasha’s, they made quick and easy work of the remaining pirates, but Steve was wading out into the water and toward where _The Siberia_ had gone up in flames.

“Rick!” he yelled, looking around frantically. “Rick!”

He found the boy floating among the debris and jerked him from the waves, fighting against the current like mad to get the child’s unresponsive body to shore.

He barely made it there before Claire was helping him to drag the body forward. She laid Rick out on the beach and placed her bent knee under his legs to position his head lower than the rest of him as she looked him over quickly.

“What’s his name?” she asked as she checked for a pulse.

“Rick Jones,” Steve sputtered. “I was supposed to be taking care of him.”

Claire shook the boy and then pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth. After she’d breathed for him a few times, she flipped him over in her arm and beat her hand hard against the back of his chest.

“C’mon, Rick,” Steve was muttering and then Claire repeated her motions of breathing into his mouth and flipping him over. Then time, when her hand came down on his back, he made a loud, distressed, gasping sound and then was coughing up water. 

His eyes were watering and he coughed over and over as Steve reached and held him upright.

“Thank you,” Steve said to Claire and she waved him off. 

“I’ve got him. You go.”

Steve looked around, unsure of why she was waving him off. He didn’t see any of their opponents left standing. Nevertheless, he stood up and trudged against the sand. 

He looked all around at the beach. Bodies were lying everywhere and his crew and an unknown crew he could only assume were from _The Widowmaker_ were both checking themselves and one another over for injuries.

“Bucky!” Steve called. 

He didn’t see him anywhere as he walked a few paces down the beach, checking each face.

“Bucky!” he called again and almost stepped on a small bit of unrecognizable debris when it moved and then sneezed out water.

Steve reached down and scooped up the tiny black kitten, soaked from the waves, but otherwise looking unharmed. Ships always had cats, but he’d never seen this one before.

“Bucky!” he called again, carrying on with the small, wet thing in his hands.

 

Sam came to his side, checking Steve over for injuries and carefully taking the cat from him. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, trying to get his attention. 

“Bucky!?” Steve called again and Sam grabbed his arm with his free hand. 

“Steve!” he tried. He reached for the captain’s shoulder and tried to turn him toward him, but Steve shook free. 

“He was here, Sam,” was all he said. 

“You need to sit down,” Sam tried, but then Natasha noticed Steve searching and joined them. 

“James?!” she called out.

And Sam remembered the name on the knife- Bucky’s real name.

“Where is he?” she asked. “You saw him, right?” she said directly to Steve. 

Sam was about to ask, but Natasha silenced him. “Steve’s not crazy. Bucky is here.”

“How-” Sam started, but Steve just grasped his hands out at nothing as if he had no explanation to offer.

“I don’t know, but I saw him.”

“You put him on my ship, Steve,” Natasha clarified. “He was one of the prisoners you gave me.”

Steve’s mind went back to the day he’d watched the man sitting against the wall of the forecastle and then sent him traipsing across unsteady planks over to Natasha’s crew. He’d been a filthy, injured mess, not unlike the Bucky that had come to Steve’s rescue, but-

“I had him?” Steve asked, even though he was fully capable of realizing the answer himself. He turned back searching down the beach from the direction they’d just walked. “I had him right there with me?”

“And now you have him right there,” Natasha said, pointing at Bucky as he emerged back from where he had chased Schmidt’s assistant into the trees. He was covered head to toe in blood and holding the dripping knife in one hand. The other hand was missing, prosthetic detached and left behind somewhere. His hair was wet with blood or sweat or both and was hanging every direction. The bandana that had been on his head was missing and he walked with a bit of a limp through the sand, but the smile on his bloodied face was unmistakable.

He trudged up, amazed that Dr. Banner even recognized him at all, but the doctor approached him and said, “It’s- it’s you. Are you alright?”

“I’ve never been better,” Bucky announced with a laugh to his voice.

He motioned for Steve to come with him as he walked by him, Sam, and Natasha and straight into the water. He flopped backwards into the clearest area he could find and suddenly the water was tinged pink and Bucky was moving underwater to get his shirt over his head. He used his hand to run his fingers through his hair as much as he was able and then cleared his hair of blood and dirt.

“You’re going to draw sharks!” Natasha yelled at him as he sat up and Bucky just laughed and motioned to Steve.

“C’mon!” he called and Sam handed the kitten off to Natasha as they both watched Steve strip out of his dress jacket and sash faster than they previously thought was humanly possible. He discarded the boots and tossed the gun aside before practically diving into the water after Bucky.

Then Bucky skimmed his hand across the top of the waves quickly and sent saltwater flying Steve’s direction.

Steve sat sputtering a few seconds with water dripping from all over before he started laughing, Bucky joining right along, and then Steve lunged forward in the waves, nearly knocking Bucky off his balance and wrapped his arms around him.

*=*=*

It took them a few hours to stack all of the bodies on a far end of the beach and set them on fire, but that’s what they did. Bucky did manage to convince Steve that putting heads on spikes wasn’t necessary.

Then everyone sat on the beach. Huddled around fires and sitting with sashes and bandanas around their mouths and noses to block the smell of what Tony called “buccan’d buccaneers” (neither term of which was technically true). 

The crews of both Steve and Natasha’s ships intermingled with one another and with the few captives they had been able to save, sitting around the few campfires and telling about themselves. After the success of the day, no one seemed particularly worried about being stranded.

Claire kept checking on Clint and Rick. Natasha sat holding Clint close to her and he wasn’t protesting.

She tapped the side of his head gently to get his attention. 

“Nothing?” she asked and Clint could tell what she was asking when he looked at her, but he couldn’t hear a word of it. He shook his head and they went back to waiting. He’d been thrown by the explosion, too close to the blast, and now all he could hear was silence. 

Dr. Banner had told them his hearing might return, but Dr. Strange had told them it might not.

Rick seemed okay and Steve had shown him to Bucky as he sat across the fire from them. “He looks just like you did! Almost identical!”

Bucky had had the boy walk closer, eyeing him up and down for a long minute before shaking his head.

“I don’t see it. Steve, we look nothing alike.”

“Bucky, he could be your twin,” Steve argued. “Well, if you were still fourteen. He looked like the ghost of you when he first showed up.”

“I’m sure if anyone else had known me when I was fourteen, they would agree with me.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam spoke up. “I saw Steve’s portraits of you and they do look exactly like Rick.”

“Steve has portraits of me?” Bucky asked, eyebrows wagging playfully Steve’s direction. “Why am I not surprised?”

At some point, the conversation turned from lighthearted to what they'd gone through that day and Steve mentioned following the logs to the rendezvous.

"They mentioned the location, but having to tie someone to the mast?" Jessica asked surprised.

"They may have," Steve answered with a shrug. "I honestly stopped reading most of them thoroughly, instead just looking for clues about the meet up. The rest was always so despicable."

"We didn't save the soldier though," Jessica commented sadly and Carol looked at her with concern as she stared into the fire. "He was supposed to be here."

"Karpov's soldier?" Steve asked the same time Bucky said,

"That's me."

Jessica's eyes went wide as she looked up at him. "I've heard so much about you, but I honestly thought you'd be bigger, more cruel."

Bucky scoffed. "Why is that?"

"They had a plan for you once they got here. Or, well, Ophelia said that Schmidt did. He had heard about you, thought you may have been someone who had escaped him in the past, and wanted to test you. Wanted to see how good the soldier really was. The plan was to have you fight the other captives- then win or lose against them, he was going to make sure you fought someone to your death. The only reason he sent Pierce after _The Siberia_ was because Karpov didn't want to give up his best fighter. Ophelia talked about this like she was so excited, but I was terrified of you. I thought it meant you were going to be another foot taller and twice as big."

Bucky had lost his smile from earlier and was now swallowing uncomfortably before he tacked a fake smile back on his face and managed to say, "Well, looks like I won after all."

And they all looked at him concerned a moment, but none of them knew how to really move on from that.

*=*=*

As they had hoped, it only took a few hours for the Wakandans to arrive to see about the fire. And from there, both crews filed onto _The Panther’s Prey_ and were carried back to civilization by the Wakandans.

They stayed a few days there in a village on the outskirts of the land, buying new materials, and sewing themselves new clothes, restocking up on foods, and allowing doctors to tend to their wounds. Bucky would tell anyone that the best part of the visit was the new prosthetic arm he’d been gifted. It was black metal with golden hinges and golden designs inset into the dark metal. The fingers were all easy to calibrate and the wrist was able to be smoothly adjusted into different positions and Bucky called it, “Easily one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

He’d shown it to Steve enthusiastically, but Steve couldn’t have been less convincing when he said, “That looks great, Bucky.”

In fact, everything he’d said to Bucky since leaving the beach had been devoid of any of the initial heart and happiness they’d shared when splashing one another in the waves.

Bucky stayed up one evening, a single candle burning in his hut as he looked across the small room at Steve’s backside. Steve had come straight in that evening, announced he was tired, and stripped down to his sleeping linens. He’d either actually missed or pretended to miss the handful of times Bucky ran his eyes up and down Steve’s shirtless torso and then he’d curled up on his cot with his back to Bucky and gone to sleep without a word. Bucky had watched him and played with the new fingers of his prosthetic for at least another hour before he drifted off to sleep himself.

Then the next day, the Wakandans dropped them off at the site where they had stashed _The Avenger_. And that was that.

Bucky watched Steve dig up a chest they had buried with some of the crew’s valuables and then the crews of both Steve and Natasha’s ships piled onto _The Avenger_ and sailed out of the Wakandan Sea.

*=*=*

“You want me to find somewhere for Rick?” Sam asked. “He can use the bed in my cabin if we alternate shifts.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. Rick had been given the smaller extra bed in the captain’s quarters so far, but Sam seemed to think that wouldn’t be an option anymore.

“I thought you’d need it for someone else now?” Sam hinted and his voice indicated he thought Steve was being a bit dense.

“Oh,” the captain replied. “I spoke with Natasha. She’s going to stay in the hold with Clint.”

Sam didn’t even know how to reply to that so he didn’t try. What he did do was to go find Bucky immediately. 

Bucky had been on the ship a few hours and he was already holding a holystone and scrubbing away at a patch of deck on the forecastle.

“Hey.”

He looked up to see Sam.

“First mate?” Bucky guessed as he stood up to be level with him. 

“Quartermaster,” Sam corrected. “I know. You're surprised. Tony was both first mate and bos’n, but I fully assume he’s been demoted to just bos’n now.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up. “Something happen?”

“Well, I kind of figured you happened. Steve hasn’t mentioned making you first mate yet? I expected him to announce right away that you were his second in command.”

“Did he say something to you?” 

“No,” Sam shrugged. “He seemed confused when I asked about setting you up his quarters as well. Maybe I read all of this wrong, but I was under the impression before that Steve, uh, that he had feelings for you.”

Bucky didn’t shrug or laugh or anything. He just sat there and Sam found him wholly unreadable for a moment until Bucky said,

“I don’t know Steve anymore. I think maybe he doesn’t know how to handle that he doesn’t know me anymore either.” 

“Do you think maybe you could talk to him? No one is going to get to know one another again spending time half a ship away from each other. I mean, it’s a pretty big ship. If you wanted to, you could go days without having to face each other. Better make something happen before there really is nothing between you anymore.”

As if on cue, Pietro hurried up the steps of the forecastle and said, “Bucky, the captain wants to see you.”

The majority of the crew from _The Avenger_ watched Bucky with some kind of ill-concealed wonder and had barely spoken to him so he appreciated Sam coming and being honest with him, but he nodded to Sam and then nodded to Pietro and made his way back to Steve’s cabin.

“Steve?” he asked as he stepped inside and saw Steve sitting on the edge of his bed- full uniform on and looking every bit as distinguished as he must have felt in the dress coat and tricorn.

Steve didn’t look up from his own hands as he spoke.

“Captain Romanova tells me she promised to take you home,” Steve said to him not unlike the way Captain Karpov used to tell Bucky whom he was going to fight. “Since for the foreseeable future, we’re one crew, and I have to go back there to report on the progress made against Schmidt and his colleagues...”

“I’m in no hurry,” Bucky replied with a small shrug as he reached up and tightened the bandana around his head. He understood Steve had work to do. After all, Steve answered to a governing body when he wasn’t out on the seas. “Take care of whatever business you need to first.”

“I don’t see a way I can leave you out of the reports.” Steve’s eyes flashed up to Bucky’s for a half a second and then he looked back down again. “We’ll have to account for everyone we bring back who’s not a part of the original commissioned crew.”

“They’ll understand about _The Widowmaker_ , Steve,” Bucky said easily. “I’m sure you’ve logged that information and your government gave her the privateering license.”

“Bucky, they didn’t give me a license to-” Steve motioned to Bucky for a half-second and then dropped his hand just as quickly. “You’re-”

“I’m what?” Bucky looked down at himself. His outfit was new- the shirt, the waistcoat, the sash, the belt. His sword had been cleaned and sharpened again and his trousers were the finest pair he’d ever sewn. He felt like a brand new man and he couldn’t understand what Steve was motioning to until he looked up and caught his own reflection in the mirror across the room. The red bandana around his head, his long messy hair, and the gold earings he’d had so long now that he usually never thought twice about them anymore- those were the things Steve was seeing.

Bucky reached down and grabbed the sword at his side, unsheathing it and whipping it through the air until the very sharp tip was at Steve’s throat.

Steve looked up at Bucky in surprise.

“I’m a pirate?” he asked with a grin. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Steve looked at a loss for words.

“Say it, Steve,” Bucky continued as he trailed his sword down the front of Steve’s perfectly cleaned and pressed dress clothes. “You’re scared to take me back to Brooklyn because I’m a pirate.”

“I didn’t- That’s not what I said,” Steve defended in a sputter.

“You didn’t?” Bucky asked. He brought the sword back to the the top button on Steve’s waistcoat. “Because all I heard was, ‘Bucky, you don’t dress like I do.” He dropped his sword down to the next button and popped it from the vest effortlessly.

“Bucky, please,” Steve said as the button hit his lap. He stood up quickly, button hitting the ground, as Bucky trailed the sword down his front again. In a quick sidestep, he moved out of the way of the blade and toward the door. “That’s enough. Let’s talk about this.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days, Steve,” Bucky replied. “Doesn’t seem to work.” He popped another button easily. “So now I’m guessing what you would have said had you spoken with me.”

“Don’t,” Steve warned, as Bucky pulled his sword back and swished it around in a threatening manner. Steve wasn’t sure if it was an actual threat or if Bucky was just showing off, but he spotted his own sword lying across the table behind the man. 

“Bucky,” Bucky said, mimicking words Steve never said. “If I take you back to Brooklyn, they’re going to see what a horrible person you’ve become- a _pirate_!”

“Bucky!” Steve argued, reaching for the round shield he kept mounted by the door.

Bucky laughed as Steve took it down from the wall and held it up in front of himself. 

“Clever,” he admitted. “You never were on my level when it came to fighting skills. I’m sure nothing has changed. May be best you defend yourself with something big and impossible to incorrectly use.”

Steve used the shield to block Bucky as he made his way over to the table and grabbed his own sword. Then he unsheathed it in a flash and spun around, meeting Bucky’s blade with his own. 

“Are you sure this is what you want, Steve?”

Steve looked more frustrated than anything as he watched Bucky flip his sword down quickly and slice right through the material at the knee of Steve’s trousers.

“I just made these! Bucky! Put the sword down!”

“No, no.” Bucky inched his back toward the door of the cabin, switched the sword to his prosthetic, then reached behind him with his now healed arm and toggled the door open. “Come and prove me wrong.”

He switched the sword back to his other hand and zipped forward just a second to pop another, lower button from Steve’s waistcoat, but Steve brought his sword up and blocked him so Bucky stepped backward to give him some space. Over the coaming and out onto the warm deck he went. Steve dropped the shield and stepped outside after him. Bucky’s feet were bare and Steve’s were not and it made Bucky laugh when he noticed. 

For a half a second, he considered slicing into the leather of the boot, but thought better of it and instead swished the sword tip at the threading of Steve’s thick stockings and watched the material split to show Steve’s calf.

“Bucky,” Steve warned. “This is foolishness.”

“Then defend yourself!” Bucky taunted, swirling the sword around without looking at Steve, but then easily brought the weapon down to clash against Steve’s the moment the captain lunged forward. 

The loud clang drew the attention of others on deck and soon, they had an attentive audience. 

Bucky stepped back, carefully finding footing with his bare feet as he and Steve held swords out to one another. 

“If you take me back,” Bucky said, “You not only have to admit that you were wrong about my death, but that you allowed a pirate to come on board and sail with you, not under lock and key, but walking free about the decks.”

“That’s not even close to what I’m thinking, Buck!” Steve watched Bucky run the tip of his sword along his cravat as if he were going to stab the weapon into Steve’s neck, but then he pulled back. 

Bucky held his sword down between them, still out to keep Steve at a distance, but he allowed a moment for the man to plan his next move.

“What were you thinking then, hmm?”

Steve huffed, held his sword up and ran it along Bucky’s to get his bearings more than anything. And then, without answering Bucky’s question, he lunged forward. Suddenly his and Bucky’s swords were both clacking and pinging against one another as they cleared the deck space with their duel.

Bucky’s feet were quick and his movements were deft. Steve’s boots made his steps louder, more heavily weighted as he came down with each step. Their bodies were both fit from years of work at sea and for a moment, Bucky acknowledged to himself that he may have underestimated his opponent.

“So you’ve learned a thing or two since I’ve been gone,” he admitted when Steve backed him into a corner, sword pointed at his chest. 

“I had to,” Steve replied. “No one there to fight beside me.”

Steve let his guard down just long enough for Bucky to duck underneath the sword pointed at him and they were at it again. Loud metallic peels rang through the air as one sword shocked upon the other in each parried attack.

“So it’s true that you’ve spent your life avenging a death that never happened?” Bucky asked and he ducked and rolled out of Steve’s way when the sword got too close.

“I thought- everyone thought you were dead!” Steve said through gritted teeth. He tried to catch Bucky’s clothing the same as Bucky had been doing to him, but Bucky was up on his feet again too quickly.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed, Bucky,” Steve argued. “I’m-“

“Could’ve fooled me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say your having a hard time coming to terms with my very existence now.”

He whipped his sword around and cut the shoulder of Steve’s dress coat. The fabric made a ripping sound as Bucky severed the threads and Steve jerked back quickly.

“Stop that,” Steve warmed again and Bucky sliced at a button on the jacket just because he could. 

Steve knocked Bucky’s sword aside and fought him back a few steps.

“I’m not disappointed in finding you alive. But you never thought to tell anyone!” Steve sounded either more anguished or more like he was getting winded from the fight. Bucky couldn’t really tell while he himself was also drawing heavier breaths. “You never came back!”

“In case it’s unclear to you,” Bucky countered, both in word and with a sword against Steve’s. “I wasn’t out here on a leisure cruise. I’ve been busy!”

“Why?!” Steve’s sword clashed hard against Bucky’s and for a second Bucky’s heart sped up fearfully until he remembered this was Steve who would surely never intentionally hurt him, especially not after years of missing him and thinking him dead.

“Why was I busy?! Oh, I don’t know, Steve! Perhaps because anything done out here is twice as dangerous and twice as difficult and, and, who is to say I never tried to come back?”

“In nearly twenty-two years you never found time in all of your busy schedule to sail on home and let us know you hadn’t been murdered by a monster? Do you know how this is going to affect your sister?!”

“Maybe it wasn’t _my_ schedule,” Bucky bit back. He forced his sword against Steve’s and then drove it up until Steve’s hand was bent back toward his own chest and they were both face to face. “Maybe nothing I’ve done out here has been my decision until one incredibly blinded captain gave me away to a privateering ship that allowed me to go free for the first time in over twenty years.”

Steve relaxed to remind Bucky he wasn’t his enemy and so Bucky stopped applying so much force. He stepped back and looked Steve over carefully before bringing his sword up, slicing at Steve’s sleeve one last time and then smirking up at the man.

“When I was freed,” he informed and started to circle Steve slowly, “I was given the option of having anything I wanted.”

Steve followed Bucky the best he could with his eyes, but stayed still.

“And I have a list-“ He looked up at the crowd, knowing it was his time to own that truth or fear it following him forever.

“A list?”

“And the first thing I wanted to do on it was to go home.”

Bucky stopped behind Steve and then slowly brought his sword up the man’s front side in a dangerously slow, but serious manner.

“But I changed my mind to come aid you.”

“You could have done anything?” Steve asked, glancing across the crowd at Natasha for confirmation. She nodded affirmatively and Steve held his breath as Bucky pressed up behind him and held the sword to his throat.

“And I carried myself, my injured limbs, my homesick soul back the opposite direction from what I wanted to make sure that I did everything I could to bring you home too.”

Steve looked over his shoulder, deep blue eyes meeting Bucky’s much lighter and piercing ones and he swallowed uncomfortably.

“So you can accept that I’ve been a pirate for all this time and defend me in that, or you can let me fight for myself, and we can continue on separate paths as soon as we reach dry land. The choice is entirely yours,” Bucky said calmly, “But I’d rather not have you at the sharp end of my sword.”

He dropped the sword lower and stepped back, taking his arm out from around Steve.

“Just let me know what you decide,” he said with a nod. Then for final measure he flipped his sword up into the air a way, caught it again, and used it to swipe the tricorn right from the top of Steve’s head. He opened the door to the captain’s quarters and swung the the sword outward to toss the hat inside before turning back toward the deck and placing his weapon down gently on the wooden planks outside. He bowed to the onlookers and closed the door behind him. 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/147908809@N02/30686808877/in/dateposted-public/)

=*=*=

It must’ve been a few hours at least before Steve returned. Bucky couldn’t be sure because he’d gone into the cabin and thrown himself backwards onto Steve’s bed and promptly fallen asleep.

All Bucky knew was that he woke up to Steve sans dress jacket and boots crawling his way up onto the bed and placing his head gently onto his chest.

Bucky carefully brought his hand up to rake his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“I don’t ever want to go separate ways from you again,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s chest. “I want to be right here, with you, and with both of our weapons pointed outward in the same direction.”

Bucky laughed lowly and moved until he could nuzzle his face into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“That sounds nice,” he murmured back. “That sounds like a future worth defending.”

Steve raised up and hovered over Bucky, looking at him with an easy smile.

“Maybe when I get back, I’ll see what they think about letting me consider this the end of my commission.”

“What would you do instead? Wouldn’t you rather be at sea?”

“I’m thinking maybe I’ll become a privateer like Natasha.”

Bucky laughed. “You know Natasha’s a pirate, right? In every way except contractually?”

“She’s a conscientious pirate, maybe.”

“Call it what you’d like,” Bucky laughed. “She’s the same as she was.”

“You’re the same as you were,” Steve commented. “Not completely, but in the ways that I’ve missed. You’re daring, crazy, impish, and you drive me to madness.”

Bucky smiled a little pleased with himself.

“Is that your way of saying you love me?”

“I have loved you since we were too young to know what those words really meant.”

Bucky reached up and pulled at the cravat at Steve’s neck until Steve’s lips came down to meet his.

The kiss was gentle at first, but not hesitant. Both men had lived long enough lives to know exactly what they wanted by this point. Then they pulled back and took breaths and surged right back forward into another kiss- longer, more passionate.

When they broke apart the second time, Steve laughed. Then he reached and began to pull apart the top of Bucky’s shirt- planting kisses along the skin beneath.

Bucky took a hint and pulled the cravat loose from Steve’s neck. Tossing it aside, he started to go for the buttons on the waistcoat.

“Oh, how convenient,” he commented smugly, “You’re missing buttons here. Makes this so much easier.”

“Shut up,” Steve laughed and kissed Bucky’s lips again to make sure that he did.

They undressed one another like unwrapping gifts, happy to see what was beneath each layer, but not being satisfied until both were laid bare.

Bucky’s eyes smiled before he let the sly expression slide across his face as he looked at Steve’s creamy skin. He ran his hands over Steve’s arms, feeling the muscle beneath.

“Did you build this up to fight for me?”

Steve grinned. “Everything I do is for you.”

Bucky grimaced. “Seems unhealthy.” He ran a hand up and gripped at the muscle of Steve’s bicep. “But I like this.”

Steve’s eyes roved over the tattoos on Bucky’s skin and then he leaned forward and placed open-mouthed kisses along the stars on Bucky’s chest until he reached his nipple and sucked it gently into his mouth.

For Bucky, it was a new sensation, something no one had done for him before and he gasped a little at the feeling and the way it somehow made blood rush directly to his groin. His cock jumped a little and Steve laughed.

“Yeah,” he commented, looking down at Bucky’s swollen length. “I’m going to get to that too.”

He toyed at the other nipple a second and then Bucky whined. Steve moved lower on the bed, still hovering over him, but this time sinking down and taking his cock into his mouth.

People had done this to him a few times. Karpov used to have whores suck Bucky off whenever he’d fought a particularly good fight. It had never meant more than a quick orgasm before, but with Steve’s lips wrapped around the shaft, it changed everything about the experience. 

Steve’s tongue flicked and swirled around the head and then down the underside as he brought his hand up to tighten around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth.

Bucky moaned, dropping his hands to settle in Steve’s hair and massage there, little encouragements for Steve to continue. 

And Steve probably would have kept going until he had an absolutely unraveled Bucky and a throat full of semen, but he looked up and saw names and initials that he recognized from captains and quartermasters loyal to Schmidt and a fire rippled under his skin.

His lips and tongue slid off of Bucky’s cock and let the member fall back against the man’s stomach as Steve instead reached to the areas of Bucky’s arm and torso that had the names inked on them.

“Do you still draw?” Bucky asked before Steve could ask what they were. He already knew anyway. “You could cover those with something more meaningful.”

And the sound Steve made was guttural before he surged back up to Bucky’s lips and kissed them. 

Bucky watched as Steve climbed off the bed, just now noticing that Steve had pulled the curtains closed to give them privacy from those on deck. He must’ve done that while Bucky was sleeping, but what a great idea it had been. Steve went over to his dresser and pulled a few drawers open until he found a vial of oil.

What he usually used on himself, Bucky realized with a smug expression.

Steve brought it back to the bed and used the dropper to put some onto his hand. He reached for Bucky’s leg a bit, planning to move it to help give himself some access, but then he thought better of it. He moved his palm instead to wrap around Bucky’s still wet cock- oiling his length up and then reached and pulled out a second dropper full of oil. He considered for a second and then Bucky held his hand out.

The dark smile that graced Steve’s face was new, and only for Bucky. Steve settled back onto his backside, his head now at the foot of the bed and his legs bent at the knee and spread wide. Bucky pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking once at his nicely oiled up erection and then at Steve’s waiting body.

His fingers were hesitant as he first reached Steve’s hole, just feeling instead of applying pressure. But then Steve reached with his own hands and held his legs and ass wider, opening up his entrance for Bucky. 

And Bucky was so glad his hand had healed finally as he used the fingers to push gently at Steve’s rim.

“C’mon,” Steve encouraged. “Don’t be shy now.”

Emboldened, he pushed forward, two fingers sliding into Steve’s body. The captain hissed a little between his teeth and then groaned as Bucky started to massage the digits into him the best he could manage. Steve’s body was tight- a reminder that he didn’t get this kind of treatment often. 

After a few minutes, Bucky added a third finger and Steve’s hand came down to grab at his wrist instantly.

“Don’t push me over before you want to,” he warned and Bucky withdrew his fingers almost reluctantly. He really isn't sure he knew what he was doing so it was probably best that Steve had warned him.

Steve pushed at Bucky’s chest and didn’t stop until Bucky was back lying flat on the bed, his head on the pillow. He reached and pulled the bandana from Bucky’s head and kissed him one last time before his focus zeroed in on Bucky’s cock, curled back against his stomach and waiting painfully hard for more attention.

Steve had never thought about the muscle beneath the thin skin of one’s cock until he could feel how solid Bucky felt in his hands, how steady and strong he would be able to use it.

He moaned at the very thought of Bucky bent over him, pounding into his hole until they both came with cries of ecstasy, but for now, Steve had other plans. 

He crawled up the bed, getting onto his knees and then swung one leg over Bucky’s abdomen. He caught Bucky’s eye as he settled into a straddling position- his round ass hovering just above Bucky’s erect length.

God, Bucky looked beautiful. The messy, smug, aroused, and alive man in front of him was the best thing Steve could have ever imagined. Bucky brought his hands up to Steve’s hips, helping to balance him there as the ship rocked a bit and Steve reached out to grab onto Bucky’s cock. He ran his hand up and down the oiled length again and again, working his hand over the head until Bucky’s whole cock was throbbing. Steve’s own cock was erect and leaking and he wanted to shove it into Bucky immediately, but he instead reached for the vial again, oiled up Bucky’s fingers one more time and hoped to get his point across.

Bucky laid there with his glistening hand, watching as Steve spread his knees a bit further apart, opening his body as it hovered just over Bucky’s. He reached behind him and then fingers curled around Bucky’s thick cock. Bucky felt the head of his cock sweep against Steve’s warm, wet hole before Steve was pressing down, sliding onto the length little by little.

Steve’s eyes went from half-lidded to wide as the length of Bucky’s cock pushed into him further and further. Steve usually did this to others, but he had very rarely ever taken on this position himself and feeling Bucky’s hips warm beneath his thighs made him shutter, especially when Bucky anchored him by this waist and then thrust up a few times to get Steve to sit flush against his body. 

Steve cried out and wind or no wind outside, there was no way the crew nearby had missed it.

“Goddamn,” Steve panted as he rolled his hips, trying to adjust to the stretch of Bucky’s cock in him.

They both moaned then, shuddering. Steve’s body was hot and tight around Bucky, easing up slowly off the length and then this time hesitating before Bucky squeezed his hips and Steve settled back down again. Bucky’s cock pushed into him and Steve whined so Bucky helped lift him up again and and then watched him slide down it so he could adjust. Then again and once, twice more until Steve was sweating and panting and Bucky was going to half-die from not moving himself. 

Bucky felt Steve relax around him the last time he slid down the length of it, and well, relaxed wasn’t exactly where Bucky wanted him so he reached the oiled hand out and wrapped it around the head of Steve’s leaking cock at the same moment he thrust his hips up into Steve’s wet heat.

The sound Steve made was animalistic and desperate all at once and Bucky laughed a little, but the sound was raw.

Then Steve was reaching out, palms flat against Bucky’s chest, and practically bouncing in the man’s lap. Bucky, not to be outdone, was meeting the movements with solid thrusts, prosthetic hand on Steve’s hip just to keep him anchored. 

His other hand worked over Steve’s length, the sensations of both cock and ass being worked over had Steve practically shouting at each jarring of his body.

“More, more,” Steve begged and Bucky was doing all that he could at that angle so he removed his hand from Steve’s cock to wrap an arm around his torso and pull him off his length. 

Steve scrambled for purchase for a second until he realized what Bucky was doing. Bucky placed Steve on his back and then spread him open again, snaking the one arm back around his back and then using the other to hold him in place as Bucky thrusted back into him. The new angle allowed him to hit Steve’s prostate dead on and Steve nearly came off the bed the with the first jolt. 

Bucky growled and held him down, pounding into him as Steve panted and whimpered at the stretch of his body and the power behind Bucky’s movements. Steve reached for his own cock and began jerking himself in time with Bucky’s thrusts and then both men were making noises that couldn’t be mistaken and couldn’t be ignored. Their moans and shouts mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin and then Steve was crying out as Bucky drilled repeatedly into his prostate without reprieve, faster and harder and faster and harder until-

“Buck, I’m gonna-“

Then Steve was going off, cum shooting all over Bucky’s inked chest as Bucky kept pounding him through it.

Steve was wild a moment, arms flying out to wrap around Bucky’s neck and then holding on as Bucky held him upright and kept striking the same spot inside him over and over.

When Steve got his bearings a bit, he focused, clench his muscles as much as he could around Bucky while the other man hammered into his body. Another minute and Steve saying, “Let go, Buck,” was what it took before Bucky was coming, filling Steve‘s channel, coating his insides with sticky hot semen.

Bucky shuttered and it triggered the same response in Steve as both men came down from their climaxes, breathing heavily against one another. They stayed that way a moment and then Bucky practically had to pull Steve’s limp body off of his cock. The sound Steve made when he did was absolutely wrecked.

Bucky laughed lowly and then so did Steve. Their voices were hoarse and their laughs a little pained in their dry throats, but neither man could seem to care.

“You’re better at more than just fancy swordsmanship, I see,” Steve managed and then both men were laughing harder and Bucky had to pull Steve to him for another kiss. 

*=*=*

No one who had known Steve before he found Bucky again knew what to think of the absolute change in demeanor after they were reunited.

Captain Rogers, who had previously been serious and bitter, sad and even angry at times, had transformed seemingly overnight. Now his every other word was, “Bucky,” and everything about him was jubilant and optimistic. 

“Who would have ever expected he had all of that to his personality?” Sam asked Natasha as they watched Steve tie a bow around the neck of the kitten Natasha had named Liho. 

“I wish I’d known who James and Rogers were to one another years ago. I could have helped them meet again much sooner.”

“If you had,” Sam replied, “We could have reunited them, but could we have also stopped Schmidt?”

“There’s still some of them out there- Schmidt’s affiliates.” She reminded as she scribbled the word “Crossbones?” onto a piece of paper and slid it to Clint. 

He nodded to her. “He still out there,” Clint agreed. 

They hadn’t found a way to communicate with Clint besides paper yet, but they were working on it. His hearing hadn’t returned since the blast. From what the rest of the crew said, Clint was the only one who was blessed enough to not be able to hear Steve and Bucky every time they locked the cabin door and pulled the curtains closed.

“Another day,” Sam said, pulling the paper away from them and watching Steve drop the tiny kitten into his coat pocket as he opened the door to the cabin.

Bucky looked up from where he was sewing buttons and seams back on Steve’s dress jacket and grinned at the captain as he came in.

“Close your eyes,” Steve instructed at once. “Close your eyes and be still.”

Bucky hesitated, but did as asked.

“Is it food?” 

“Definitely not,” Steve laughed. “But if you’re hungry, we can eat after this, _Biscuit_ Barnes.”

Bucky grinned. “Yes, please.”

He felt the weight of something placed on his shoulder and then as Steve told him to open his eyes, whiskers ended up in his face and the softness of fur brushed up against his jaw.

“Is this for me?” Bucky asked, voice raising as the question went on. 

“Picked Liho up from the beach after the explosions. Natasha’s had him, but she says he’s all yours.”

“This is on my list!” Bucky practically squeaked as he scooped the cat from his shoulder and began to scratch down his little body.

“I know, I know. Scott told me. You’ll have to tell me what else is on it.”

“Tattoos,” Bucky said with a smile, but he was looking down still at Liho. “See the Northern Lights and the Southern Lights. Get married,” he said whipping his face up to look at Steve. “Go home.”

“I think we can do all of those,” Steve said with a sure nod. 

“You should make a list,” Bucky suggested. “We could do whatever was on your list too.”

Steve shrugged a bit and pulled out a chair to settle down beside Bucky. 

“I think my list would be easy enough,” Steve admitted as he looked at Bucky with a soft smile. “Tattoos, see the Northern and Southern Lights, get married. Go home.”


	9. Epilogue: The Other Side of the Bay in Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky had stood in front of the mirror for far longer than usual asking Steve if he was sure he looked okay before Sam had shouted, “No, your entire visage is still painful to me.”

“I can’t believe she still lives here,” Bucky said as he rode with Steve and Sam down Leaman Street and toward the old home he’d grown up in. “I’m so nervous for some reason.”

Bucky was dressed a little differently today than what Steve had gotten used to seeing. He wore a blue dress coat, buckled shoes, and woolen stockings. His vest was dark brown and his hair was braided and tied with a chocolate brown ribbon. The earrings were still in his ears, but he’d stood in front of the mirror for far longer than usual asking Steve if he was sure he looked okay before Sam had shouted, “No, your entire visage is still painful to me,” and they’d ventured out of Sam’s house in Harlem on horseback to come this way.

Steve was enjoying the knowledge that if nothing else, his ability to properly ride a horse was far superior to Bucky’s.

“You want me to talk to her first?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky decided, swallowing thickly. “That may be best.”

They stopped the horses across from Steve’s home and he dismounted, gave Bucky’s knee a squeeze, and then strode carefully over to the front door of the next home.

The tall, elderly man who answered the door was one of the staff so Steve asked him if he could tell Ms. Rebecca that Steve Rogers was there with some information concerning her brother. It wouldn’t be the first time that Steve had given her updates on how his career was going in an effort to avenge Bucky. He checked in on her every time he was home so he didn’t suspect she would think anything different of this visit.

A minute or two later, Rebecca was standing at the top of the stairs and saying. “Steve, it’s so lovely to see you!” 

She hurried down the stairs and Steve caught her in a hug before she pulled back to look at his face. She always smiled, but much like Steve’s, their faces were always tinged with sadness. After all, their connection was a bittersweet one.

“You look so well,” she commented and reached up to brush his face gently with her gloved hand.

“I’ve been well. Thank you,” he replied. “You always look radiant.”

“What news?” she asked as she motioned him into the parlor and another member of the house staff brought them tea and cakes. Rebecca’s staff was always Irish and Steve hoped it was because there was something comforting about them to her in the same way they were to him.

“I’ve completed my mission,” Steve told her with a soft smile as they both took seats adjacent to one another. “I set out to avenge Bucky. And without giving you horrific details, just know that his captor has been slain far, far from here. All of the nightmares and bloodshed have been repaid.”

Rebecca’s hand came up to cover her mouth.

“You- You finished it?” she whispered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then opened them again. She fixed him with a look and asked. “What now? What will you do now?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Steve said with a smile. “I’ve thought about that a lot actually and I’ve been thinking I might get married.”

Rebecca brought her hand to her chest. “Aw, Steve, you’ve found someone?”

Steve nodded. “This last month or so on our voyage back home, I’ve spent many nights lying out on the deck and looking upward at the stars. You can see every star when you’re out on the sea. So I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“Bucky would have loved that,” she said with a sad smile. “The two of you used to lie out there for hours just talking and naming every star you knew the names of.”

“He still loves that,” Steve replied, “And he still knows the names of every damn one of them.”

Rebecca looked confused as Steve continued.

“And we’ve been lying out on the decks all these nights and reliving those times because, Rebecca, Bucky didn’t die when he was taken all those years ago. He didn’t die then and he came back to help me during the fight and he’s the one who actually killed Schmidt. And then he came home.” Steve stepped over and lifted the curtain from the window so she could see out. “Rebecca; Bucky’s home.”

It took a second for her to process Steve’s words before she was standing up and going over to the window herself.

She peered for a second and Steve watched her as she went from bewilderment to confusion.

“I don’t see him. I one very handsome man on horseback across the street, but-”

Steve turned and looked out the window to see only Sam sitting atop the horse and watching them back. When he saw the two of them looking, he nodded toward the door to Steve went back through the foyer with Rebecca at his heels.

Steve opened the door and Bucky seemed to jump to attention from where he’d been pacing at the bottom of the porch steps. Then both brother and sister stopped and stared, hands over of their mouths and eyes wide as they looked one another up and down.

All at once, Rebecca was racing out of the house, across the small porch, and down the steps.

“Bucky!!” she squealed, jumping into his arms. He caught her, spinning her around like he had when she was small. Then she stood there, in the middle of the street, clinging to her brother and saying his name over and over.

“Shhh,” he calmed, holding her tightly and patting her hair. “I’m home now,” he assured. He looked over her shoulder at the house he’d grown up in, at the house next door, at the street, and then at Steve. “I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> If you're interested, I'm on tumblr [here](https://ribbonsflyingoutthewindow.tumblr.com).  
> ♥


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